Full Circle
by GeekLoveFanandScullyAsTrinity
Summary: And he'd never been so thrilled to be tethered by such a bond before. The ring on his finger a foreign, frightening and wholly welcome weight.
1. Full Circle

Title: Full Circle

Authors: GeekLoveFan and ScullyAsTrinity

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: …:::Crickets:::…:::Leslie perks up out of bushes with net::: OHHHHH! CRICKETS!!! :::Holly's head pops up::: CRICKETS!?!?! WHERE!?!?!

GeekLove's A/N: GeekLoveFanandScullyasTrinity is, big surprise, GeekLoveFan and ScullyasTrinity working together. Yes, folks, the Yankee and the Southerner, the Bostonian and the Tennesseean, the Democrat and the Republican--we have teamed up to write some (hopefully) hella good fiction. We are complete G/S shippers, so if you're not up for angstiness, fluff, and sap, you might want to just run screaming from this story as quickly as humanly possible. As for our technique in writing, we are writing the first and last chapters together, and we will alternate writing the chapters in between. We hope you enjoy.

Scully's A/N: Love you Holly, but never ever call me a Yankee. :::grumbles about Jeter:::

GeekLove's A/N: I hate the Yankees.

Scully's A/N: Good! We done?

GeekLove's A/N: Yes.

---

For Las Vegas, it was frigid. The temperature had plunged as the sun did, dropping from seventy to a freezing forty-three degrees. The sudden change in temperature had thrown the night shift team for a loop, leaving them shivering the middle of the woods, gathering evidence with fingers that had gone numb.

Nick Stokes tried in vain to return the circulation to his icy digits by blowing warm air into them. All his attempts served to do was chap his skin, and he swore, bending over to snap pictures of trampled weeds.

"Ever experienced a Nor'Easter?" Sara called over to her co-worker.

Nick paused in his evidence retrieval. "Can't say I have."

"Then you don't know what cold is." Sara responded, Nick's face breaking out in a grin.

Warrick had prompted Greg to climb a large oak tree to retrieve a swatch of fabric which was blowing in the breeze, held tightly by the stiff branches. The older CSI stifled a grin as Greg whimpered and attempted to crawl over the gnarly wood on his knees. He mumbled something about hazing and shut up.

Sara was bagging a grainy substance on the other side of the tree; she did nothing to stifle her laughter, letting it bubble out of her. Her own good humor caused Warrick to laugh as well, watching as Greg attempted to get the evidence into the plastic bag without falling and breaking his neck.

"Alright!" Nick called from the other side of the field. "Let's get this back to Grissom."

Every member of nightshift was working on one case, save for Catherine and Grissom. Griss was stuck at the office tying up loose ends on piles of paperwork, while Catherine had the night off.

Warrick and Sara assisted Greg in dismounting from the tree, they packed up their gear and headed back to the lab. It was quite a drive back, and both Sara and Greg fell asleep on the way.

Once they had parked the Denali, they tried to retrieve their kits from the trunk, which was stuck. It took a good ten minutes to get the hatch opened, the wind having picked up, thwarting many of their attempts. They could barely hear each other speak over the voice of the gusts, could barely see with all of the sand and dust being thrown in their eyes. It would have been easy to reach over the back seat and grab the kits, but they would have had to leave the difficult task of unsticking the trunk for another time, and Warrick and Sara decided to tackle it while they had the time. After several attempts of throwing their bodies against the cold metal, the hatch clicked open, nearly taking off Warrick's head.

Back at the lab, the four CSIs went in separate directions as they logged their evidence and began analysis.

Still shivering in her windbreaker, Sara dropped off the grainy substance she had collected at Trace. Walking back toward the break room for a cup of Greg's special brew, she passed Grissom in his office, barely visible behind a mountain of paperwork. Sara smiled in spite of herself. The poor guy must be miserable. She stopped in the doorway and tapped lightly on the doorjamb. "Hey, Griss?" she said in a low voice. As he looked up, her heart skipped a beat. He looked, for lack of a better description, adorable. His glasses had slid down his nose, and his hair was slightly rumpled, most likely from running his fingers through it in frustration. She berated her heart for speeding up to such a tempo.

"Mmm?" he said, distractedly.

"I was just headed to get some coffee. You look like you could use a cup. Want some?"

He dragged his attention away from the file he was looking at. "Yeah, sure," he said, finally looking at her in earnest. "Why are you wearing a windbreaker?" he asked.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Because it's in the forties out in the desert and I'm wearing short sleeves. To tell the truth, though, the thing didn't really live up its name. I'm still freezing." It was odd how people equated the desert with blinding heat. At night, it got pretty damn cold.

"Sara your nose and ears are all red," he commented. A look of concern flickered over his face for a split second before being replaced by the expressionless mask she knew so well. How could he even tell from that far away? Her heart tightened involuntarily. Thoughtful? Grissom being thoughtful? It must have been a slip of his tongue. She completely ignored the exaggerated somersault her stomach performed.

"Yeah, well," she said shyly. "I know I grew up in windy Frisco and went to college in Boston, but to tell the truth, I hate cold weather and my body doesn't react very well to it." She looked down, inexplicably embarrassed. She was sure, at that point, her cheeks were just as red as her ears and nose were.

"Oh..." Grissom said mildly, unsure how to respond. "Well, yeah, coffee would be great." He didn't bother to thank her, the soft tone of his voice already conveying his gratitude.

Sara stepped back into the hallway, exasperated with herself for even stopping by his office. What had she been trying to do? Things between her and Grissom had been...strained, to say the least, ever since her near-DUI. Why was she even bothering? He had made it quite clear that there would never be anything between them, and now she was pretty sure their friendship was shot to hell, too. Why try to fix it now? 'Why fix it now?' She berated herself. 'Because he's the only one who can-' She stopped her train of thought before it even left the station and made her way quickly down the hall.

She stepped into the break room and quickly poured two cups of coffee, determined to drop Grissom's coffee by his office and get back to her evidence as quickly as possible. No words, don't speak to him. Do not, Sara Sidle, let him draw you in.

When she got back to Grissom's office, he unexpectedly beckoned her in. "Sit down," he said, gesturing toward the couch. He walked around his desk and closed the door. What was this? She didn't particularly care what it was and any notion of getting back to her evidence was quickly lost.

As she sat down, Grissom stepped back and picked up an old UNLV sweatshirt that was lying on his desk. He handed it gently to her and said, "Here, put this on." Stunned, she pulled off her windbreaker and replaced it with the heavier sweatshirt. Her heart fluttered as she slipped the shirt over her head. It smelled of him. She watched wordlessly, wide-eyed, as Grissom opened the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet, pulled out an afghan, and placed it around her shoulders. He placed her coffee in her hands and said, "Drink." She brought the mug up to her lips and then stopped, her eyes darkening, deep creases forming in her forehead.

Wait, what... what exactly was happening. She wasn't sure if he could detect it but her head was spinning at the speed of light. He ignored her, and then... acted as if she were a fragile piece of...

"Griss, what's going on?" She asked. Her coffee now forgotten. The proximity to him having warmed her from the second he sat next to her. His brow creased as he tried to form an answer.

He sat back on the couch, a picture of relaxation, seeming to her at ease with their closeness. If she had bothered to place her ear to his chest, she would have heard his heart thumping so rapidly that it might burst. "You were cold." Grissom stated, as if the three simple words would explain his random, sweet gesture.

It was bullshit. "You can't do this you know. You can't act as if I don't exist and the do something..." She trailed off, not quiet sure she wanted to tread such deep waters if she wasn't sure she could swim in them. She wanted to be sickened with his behavior, with her own willingness to accept his behavior as truth. Such are the weaknesses of being in love, blind to what's really going on.

"Do something..." He pressed on.

"So sweet." She spit it out, suddenly finding her coffee intriguing. Her throat screamed as she gulped down the hot liquid. It settled heavily in her stomach. Sweet, it was true, possibly one of the most thoughtful things he had ever done for her. Her mind was suddenly pulled to a time when she had done much the same, placing a blanket over his shoulders, feeding him hot chocolate and scientific conversation.

Funny, how things come full circle.

Grissom followed suit, sipping idly from his coffee, still perfectly at ease. "I didn't know saving you from pneumonia was considered sweet these days, but I'll take what I can get."

"Ahhh, what you can get." Sara nearly laughed at the irony of the situation. "I've given you much more to go on these past few years, but you choose a case of the chills as an opportunity to be close to me. I see. I have you all figured out Grissom." Another sip from her coffee mug found her leaning back on the couch as well.

Cupping both of his hands around the warm mug, he inhaled the fragrant steam rising from the cup. "Do you now?"

"No." Came her prompt reply, still his hands as he once more raised the mug to his lips.

He nodded as sipped his coffee, all the while keeping his eyes trained solidly on her. He had expected her to turn away, but instead, she held his gaze. It seemed as if they were daring each other to look away. Sara blew against the surface of her coffee, as a physicist knowing that it wouldn't really help to cool the beverage, and they both looked away. Sara's eyes fell on his specimen jars, her brain telling her that she'd seen them hundreds of times, look at something else.

Grissom stared into his coffee mug. She had asked a damn good question. What was going on? He knew that this was out of character for him, but the sight of her, shivering in his doorway, yet still concerned enough about his well-being as to offer to get him coffee, had moved him. When she had headed off to the break room after coffee, he had dug out the sweatshirt almost without thinking.

Launching himself back into reality, he spoke to her. "What's so hard about figuring me out?"

If the moment had been less charged, Sara might have burst out laughing at the absurdity of the question. As it was, she just swallowed hard, then whispered, "You're an enigma, Grissom." She paused, considering whether or not to continue. "I don't know what you want." His eyes met hers, and she looked into them, unblinkingly. "I don't think you know what you want, either." She said this last with a courage she did not feel.

She had the urge to leave his office then, for she knew that he would stew over her words, attempting to pick them apart and examine them. It would have been good too, because he would have eventually seen that he didn't need to examine them, he could have then them at face value. That was how she had intended them.

They stayed like that, eyes locked, neither willing to be the first to look away, for what seemed like eons. Finally, Grissom blew out a loud sigh as he wiped his sweaty palms down the front of his pants. "You're wrong," he murmured. "I know exactly what I want."


	2. Jump the Ridge

Scully's A/N:Let it be known that my cousin works at Ben and Jerry's… and I effin HATE Cherry Garcia.

Geek's A/N: I'd just like to point out that I do not personally eat Ben and Jerry's. It's completely overhyped for the prices they make you pay for it.

Hey everyone. Well, someone reported Stalemate… so deleted it. Sad but true. I think I'll post chapter 13 and then archive the story somewhere else. Email me with your thoughts about what I should do… or some such. This is such bull.

**---**

Despite the fact that breathing was supposed to be a function of the autonomic nervous system, Sara quite simply did not do so for at least 15 seconds. Lost in the endless blue of her supervisor's eyes, it occurred to Sara that breathing seemed rather trivial at the moment. When her lungs finally reminded her otherwise, she sucked in a cool breath and whispered, "What exactly is it that you want, then?" She was terrified of the answer.

His eyes never left hers as he breathed, "What I can't have."

For a moment she just sat there, stunned at his bold admission. _Did he just say what I think—_and then suddenly, all the bottled up, carefully hidden, and ultimately rejected feelings of the last ten years exploded from her. "What…the _fuck?!" _she cried angrily, throwing the afghan off of her shoulders. She slammed her coffee mug down on table next to her as Grissom looked on, stunned.

Sara whirled around to face him, an accusing finger in his face. "_You_…are so full of bullshit, Grissom. What the hell is that supposed to mean? You want me and you can't have me? Here I am, Grissom! Right here! Why can't you have me?" She leaned down and got in his face, hating him and loving him all at the same time. "Let me explain something to you. The only person who thinks that you can't have me is _you._ There _are_ no rules about supervisor-employee relationships, ok? I don't care that you're 15 years older than me, ok? _You_ are the only one keeping this from happening, so don't give me that bullshit about how you want what you can't have." She slumped, defeat and resignation creeping into her voice. Giving him a sad look, she uttered, "I am so…_tired _of this, Grissom. You—you are nothing but a coward. Thanks for the shirt and the..._conversation," _she spat bitterly as she peeled off his sweatshirt and left his office.

(---)

Grissom sat on his couch, dumbfounded at the events that had transpired. He absently picked up the sweatshirt she had thrown down. Without thinking, he held it to his nose and immediately regretted it. God, it smelled like her. He put it down on the couch and numbly returned to his desk to finish his paperwork.

(---)

Sara sat seething in the layout room, trying to go over evidence. When she realized that she'd just looked at the same piece of evidence for fifteen minutes without really seeing it, she decided to give it a rest for a moment. She stood up and walked around the room for a few moments, trying to collect her thoughts.

_God, he's such an asshole! "What I can't have." What the fuck does _that_ mean? Why does he do this to me—not to mention himself? Does he think it's fun to see me like this? Does he like toying with me? Oh, good grief, Sidle, get it together._

"Sara!" Nick barked. Sara's head jerked up.

"Huh?"

"What's up? I've been trying to get your attention."

"Oh, sorry. Just…thinking."

Nick shot her a skeptical look before saying, "I brought your results from Trace. Your mystery substance is cocaine, cut, strangely enough, with generic desert sand." Sara barely heard him, just nodding her thanks as he tossed the folder with her results on the layout table.

(---)

Four hours later, her case wrapped up tightly, Sara decided to leave on time for a change. Still stewing over her confrontation with Grissom, she and her dark mood rolled into the locker room to gather up her stuff. As she was grabbing her purse out of her locker, Nick came in and asked, "You ok, Sar?"

Sara slammed her locker in response. "I'm fine, Nick," she said through clenched teeth. She brushed past him on her way out.

A slow, understanding smile spread across Nick's face. "Grissom?" he asked sympathetically.

Sara looked at him with daggers in her eyes. "Stick it, Nicky," she growled fiercely, shoving the door open on her way out.

Looking at the now closed door, Nick stood with his hands on his hips, muttering under his breath. "Damn it, Grissom, you are going to have to get your shit together and fix this."

(---)

As Grissom stepped out of his office to go home, he spotted Nick in the hallway. He was about to ask him about the evening's case when Nick shot him a look that could only be interpreted as "do not speak to me unless you have a death wish." _Shit._ _Nick knows. Not good. _Raising his eyebrows, Grissom respected the younger man's obvious wishes and steered clear.

He shuffled slowly out to his Tahoe, oblivious to the lingering chill in the air. His mind was everywhere at once—Sara's red nose, Sara's smell on his sweatshirt, Sara's fury-filled eyes, Sara's delicate hands, how to fix things with Sara…

As he shut the driver's side door behind him, he huffed out a huge sigh and dropped his head to the steering wheel, thoughts churning wildly. There was really only one thing to do at this point…

(---)

Sara slammed the door to her apartment shut and kicked off her shoes. She dropped her stuff in a heap on the floor and flopped down on the couch, emotionally exhausted, but not naïve enough to expect sleep to come easily. She lay on the couch for a few long moments, soaking in the silence and peace of her apartment. When she finally felt a little calmer, she flipped on the TV and padded into her bedroom to change into something more comfortable. Finding her favorite sheer, soft tank top and a faded pair of Harvard sweats, she tossed her clothes on a chair and changed. She then headed into the kitchen to dig out her emergency stash of Ben and Jerry's (kept on hand for times just such as these). Pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie and a spoon in hand, she trudged back to the living room and popped a DVD in. Bridget Jones would cheer her up, hot British men…

Half an hour later, the pint of ice cream was long gone and Sara wasn't feeling any better. _Time for the heavy ammunition, _she thought. She returned to the kitchen and rummaged in the cabinets until she found what she was looking for—her last remaining alcohol. A fifth of coconut rum. After her "incident," as she had come to think of it, she had abandoned alcohol, for the most part. She still had the occasional beer, but all of her hard liquor went down the drain, with the exception of this one bottle. It had been unopened, and she couldn't quite bear to pour an entirely full bottle down the sink. At this moment, she was thankful for that. She carried the bottle and a shot glass back to the living room and slumped back into the sofa cushions. At least she could kill two birds with one stone—she could drown the thoughts of Grissom and maybe catch some sleep, too.

_Well, Grissom, _she thought bitterly, _you think I have a drinking problem, don't you? Well, if I do, it's because of you. If I had someone to come home to, I wouldn't have to come home to the bottle, would I?_ Sara stopped herself. That wasn't fair. He may have acted like an asshole to her, but she couldn't hold him responsible for the actions she chose to take. Still, she was only human, and she couldn't help but pin a small part of the blame on him.

Sara knocked back four shots in quick succession and had just poured her fifth when she was startled by a sharp rap on her door. "What the hell?" she muttered as she stood up. She uncharacteristically threw open the door without looking and stood in shock at the sight before her. Grissom. Holding a small, gift-wrapped box.

She didn't say a word. The alcohol was just beginning to hit her, and she swayed—just a bit—as she stood in the doorway. Grissom raised an eyebrow at her and said, "May I come in?" Wordlessly, she stepped back, allowing him entry.

When she shut the door, she turned to face him, and he cleared his throat nervously and glanced pointedly at her attire. She looked down at her shirt and mumbled, "hold on," shuffling toward her room. As she glanced in her mirror, she rolled her eyes in mild embarrassment. This particular tank top did not have a built-in shelf bra, and it was incredibly sheer, to boot. She could see the dark outline of her nipples quite clearly through the cotton. "Good grief," she muttered. She opened a drawer and pulled out a long-sleeved t-shirt and walked back out into the living room as she pulled it on over her head.

Grissom was sitting on her couch, gift in hand, staring at the bottle of rum and the full shot glass. _Shit._ He sensed her presence and looked up at her. "How much have you had?" he asked.

She just looked at him.

"Sara," he pleaded, fear in his eyes. "How much have you had?"

Her muscles felt like jelly. "Four," she mumbled, humiliated.

"Four _shots?"_ he said incredulously. She nodded. "How fast?"

"Umm, in about five or ten minutes."

He paled and sucked in a ragged breath.

"Sara, how much do you weigh?"

She looked at him blankly. "Sara!"

"One fifteen."

She could see him mentally calculating. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "I'm tempted to take you to the hospital and have your stomach pumped, but I think you'll be okay as long as you quit now. I'm staying with you, though."

Sara attempted to protest weakly, but he silenced her with a Look. He placed the gift-wrapped box on the table, picked up the bottle and the shot glass and walked to the kitchen. Sara heard him pouring the rum down her sink. She was too dazed to be pissed. A few moments later, he came back with a large glass of water. "Drink," he commanded her for the second time that day. She did as he ordered, but after a few ounces, she pushed the glass away with a funny look on her face. Grissom, ever observant, read the look for what it was and quickly got her on her feet. "Hurry, Sara," he commanded gently. He guided her to where he guessed the bathroom was. They made it just in time, and Sara hurtled toward the toilet, Grissom on her heels. She fell to her knees and began retching as Grissom pulled her hair back with one hand and gently stroked her back with the other. As her heaves subsided, Grissom released his hold on her and dug under her sink for a washcloth. He ran cold water over it, wrung it out, and placed it lightly on her forehead. Seeing the beads of sweat on her face, he tugged up on the long-sleeved t-shirt she was wearing, no longer concerned with modesty. He peeled the shirt off of her sticky skin, leaving her in the sheer tank top. "Hang on just a sec," he said. He hurried back into the living room and grabbed her glass of water. Bringing it to her, he pressed it into her hand. She sloshed the water in her mouth and spat it into the toilet as Grissom reached up to the handle to flush it.


	3. Dynamic Shift

**A/N: Hey guys! So I recovered Stalemate, thanks in whole to Mark, GeekLoveFan's husband and his strange bout of déjà vu. Hey, whatever gets the job done, right? Oh, I wanted to let readers know (whether you're a livejournal user or not doesn't matter), Holly, Renee and I are working on a page where CSI fans from (and everywhere else) can post their stories and receive immediate reviews and have the ability to respond back to the reviews they get. That's why livejournal is awesome. Everyone and anyone can sign up, and you don't have to be a member of livejournal to read and respond. You DO have to be a member to post stories though. It's insanely simple for those of you who don't use it, and you should check it out. Sign up, it's gonna be good times. Just email me at **

**---**

"This is your fault." She murmured pathetically. She'd never thought of herself as the type of person to be self-destructive because of the actions of another, but she was. She wondered if it made her any less of a person and then she realized that she didn't care because it was her choice, not his.

"My fault?" Grissom was non-plussed, looking around her bathroom as if it would give him an answer that she could not.

"Yeah. This, me being drunk. Your fault. And I'm not a drunk, I'm really not. I got drunk… three times. I don't drink all the time. I don't. Believe me, I know what an alcoholic is Griss, my parents were, and I'm not. Three times in a year. That's it."

He stared at her, her face startlingly pale as it hovered above the white porcelain.

The alcohol coursing through her brain no longer made her feel ashamed, but brave in a way she hadn't felt before.

"Every one of those times it's been you. Can't say it's your fault because you don't know-" She cut herself off, thinking she was going to vomit again. But she didn't, she held it back, finding that the entire situation was mind over matter.

Grissom too held back, holding onto her hair as he did so.

"I guess I understand why you don't want anything to happen. Your work is your life, God knows I understand that, I do."

"You think that's what's stopping me?" He said, loudly, indignantly.

She stared at him, her mouth tasting of rum and stomach acid. Pushing herself off of the tiled floor and severed eye contact with him. Her bottom lip was caught between her lips as she reached for her toothbrush and attempted not to cry.

"Sara if I let go, if I let you in… Sara, you don't understand."

"I suppose that's okay. You don't want me to understand." She scrubbed at her molars harshly, unleashing a fraction of the pain she felt on her teeth.

Grissom scrubbed a hand through his hair harshly, wanting to pull it from the root to relieve him of the pain he felt uttering the words he was sure he would. "Do you think for one second, for one **second** that if you touched me, really touched me, that I'd be able to stop myself?"

He sounded so very angry, incensed at her inability to understand what he was trying to say. The looked at him then, mouth full of toothpaste and unspoken obscenities. And she blinked, blinked twice, his eyes never straying from hers.

His gaze softened at the white foam running from her. "Spit, would you." He begged softly, a ghost of a smile attempting to steal his lips. She did as he asked, rinsing her brush and he mouth with cool tap water.

"Oh just stop, stop acting so… deep, like you're in so deep." She huffed out, replacing the cheap plastic brush back in the metal holder, staring at herself in the mirror. She noticed the faint bags forming under her eyes but she didn't care, who was she trying to impress. She was far beyond caring how he saw her.

She met his eyes in the mirror, her face a blank shield.

"Can you think, for one second, that I care what you look like? Though you're gorgeous, stunning and so simple, do you really think I care what you look like, what you wear, how you act. Can you really think that I care if you cry, or of you fall apart sometimes. Do you think that any of those things can have an effect on how I feel for you?" His voice wavered, but he held onto the soft wood of the door-jamb in order to ground himself.

He moved a step forward, his eyes on fire, and for a fraction of a second she was scared of what he would do. Her back was pressed against the sink. Her headache and nausea gone only to be replaced by longing and anticipation.

She could have cared less how pale she looked at that moment. How frail she seemed standing there against her sink.

"Do you think I'd find you any sexier if you were in silk instead of cotton? Do you?" he questioned, taking another long stride into the bathroom, biting his lip. "Do you think it's be better if I said this to you over wine and candlelight Sara? Do you think I'd attempt to be any less poetic if I had you pinned against a wall? I'd like to know, because you do seem to have me figured out."

Sara sucked in a breath, wanting to respond, but not knowing how to. Instead of speaking, she pushed herself away from the porcelain and moved around him, out of the bathroom. He made no move to stop her.

Instead, he chose to follow, as she moved into her bedroom. Grissom hovered in the doorway, not wishing to overstep his bounds more than he already had.

Sara looked at him, hair in her face, sweatpants low on her hips. The picture of relaxation. A sliver of skin peeked out from the edge of the worn cotton and he longed to run his tongue along it, longing to elicit a moan from deep within her throat. Instead, he hung back, his frame fitting to the left side of the doorframe as she pulled back the covers.

"Am I confusing you?" Grissom asked her, his dark side getting the better of him, goading her on. "Do I need to clarify?"

Sara spun to face him, amazing in her fury. "You had plenty of time to do that. Years in fact. I can't put my life on standstill anymore. Yes, I loved you Grissom. I can say that to your face now. It's past tense." She fluffed her pillows with harsh hands, molding them to semi-perfection, then slamming them down on her mattress.

Grissom stared, not truly believing that she had told him that her emotions were past tense. "I should leave." He commented, almost sadly, but the words came out of his mouth sounding nonchalant, not how he'd intended.

"Yeah, you should." Sara said, not truly bothering to turn towards him, tossing the last remaining pillow into place and making a swift move to crawl into bed. He could let himself out.

However, as soon as she had sat on her bed, he was across the room his lips clinging to hers desperately, and she made no move to dislodge them.

"Please." He whispered desperately, no longer caring if he was begging. "Please, please tell me it isn't too late to have you." He panted harshly against her open lips.

Sara's hands came up to claw at his back, bunching the fabric of his shirt between her hands. "You're such a bastard. Hurt me so bad… make it up to me." She panted back into his open mouth, her tongue plunging in, staving off any response that he could have formed.

His hands tangled in her hair, as he realized how inappropriate he was acting. "Rest of my life. Promise." He replied. Warm lips plundered hers, truly explored, slowly and deliberately, and her pride crumbled and she groaned low, pulling Grissom fully onto the bed with her.

"Not like this." He panted out, grabbing her wrists as they sought to tangle around his neck once more. At his words, her lips paused and she looked at him, her eyes holding both anger and confusion.

"Sara, it can't happen like this." He kissed her nose and stilled, she lay there still, completely confused. His hands, reverent to touch, stroked over her cheekbones as both of their eyes fluttered closed.

A tear slid out of the corner of her eyes, and wouldn't have been felt unless his hand had been there. It caught at the edge of his palm and slid to his wrist, where it dried up, holding.

"No, no. I can't have it happen like this. You have to understand. This is the one time in my life… I have to have it happen… I have to make love to you Sara, I can't have it happen like this." He held her face in her hand. She smiled slightly.

"I've never done that before." She whispered back at him, her chin tipping up in an honest gesture. A pink tongue came out to wet her lips which had suddenly become parched.

"Done what?" He was confused, the tears continuing to slip from her eyes regardless of how hard she tried to hold them back.

Sara glanced at him quickly, and looked down at her hands which were held in his. "Actually, you know. I've never made love."

Grissom's eyes portrayed his shock at her statement.

Sara's posture shifted, and she attempted to change the subject. "Hey, and what was in that box you brought?" She moved to get out of bed and retrieve the box, but he stilled her with a hand across the stomach.

"It can wait til morning." Her head dropped to the pillow and Grissom dropped a kiss into her hair before she drifted off.


	4. And As An Afterthought

Geek's A/N: I'd just like to say that my husband rocks. He helped me rescue Stalemate from the deep, dark recesses of the internet. Scully thinks he's awesome, too, but the truth of the matter is, I just couldn't let Stalemate go! It's a HOT little fic, people. My husband doesn't know it, but it's responsible for at least a couple of the times I've run into his office and jumped his—er, well, you get the picture.

Scully's A/N: Yeah so, as you all know, I can't write good sap. I mean, I just can't do it. That's why Holly juxtaposes me so wonderfully. This is alllll her in this chapter.

---

Grissom lay awake for a long time after Sara slipped into the confines of slumber. He spent the first half hour acclimating himself to the fact that he was in Sara Sidle's bed. When he was certain that had become as accustomed to that realization as he was ever going to get, he allowed his mind to wander into the forbidden territory of his love for her. A steadfast perfectionist by nature, he had long ago decided that if the time ever came that he acted on his love for Sara (which he was sure it never would), it would have to be perfect. She deserved nothing less, and he was quite positive that his fragile heart could withstand nothing less.

As these thoughts flooded his mind, he began to plan his course of action for that evening after they woke up. He was certain that he had disappointed Sara by not making love to her earlier, but he simply couldn't take the chance that her inebriated state would leave her regretting their actions later—not to mention the fact that he had been telling the truth in what he said. It had to be perfect. They had to _make love_—not have an all-out fuckfest.

As his mind began to formulate a plan of action, he pulled her a little closer and watched her smile in her sleep. Oh, yes. This was going to be good indeed.

(---)

Grissom opened his eyes that afternoon to the sound of moaning. He rolled over and looked at a very pale Sara Sidle in alarm. "What's wrong?" he asked, forgetting for a moment that he should probably feel awkward waking up in her bed.

"Hangover," was all she muttered.

"Even after throwing up?" he asked incredulously.

"What can I say?" she groaned. "I don't handle the hard stuff very well. At least, not in large quantities," she said with a wince.

"Ok, hold on just a sec," he said with concern. He threw off the comforter and padded to her kitchen. He poured her a large glass of cold water and brought it to her. "Drink this. It'll help with the dehydration. I'll go get some Tylenol." She began to drink obediently while he rummaged through her medicine cabinet, feeling slightly embarrassed when he came across a box of tampons. When he returned with the Tylenol, she was looking slightly more alert.

"Thanks," she said, taking the proffered pills. After swallowing them down, she looked at her hands and said, "I'm sorry if I was obnoxious this morning."

In what was still a rather bold move for him, Grissom moved to gather her into his arms. "No, no, shh…You have nothing to be sorry for. The only person in this room that needs to be apologizing is me. I have been such an ass to you for so long…I don't know if I can ever make it up to you, but what I said before was true." He swallowed and forced himself to repeat the words that had come so easily only hours before. "I'll spend the rest of my life trying," he whispered. She looked up at him with shining eyes, but he continued before she could say anything. "And I'm going to start tonight. You are on the schedule as having tonight off, correct?"

"Yes, but I was planning to come in and—" He silenced her with a soft finger to her lips.

"It can wait. I am going to take a much-deserved personal day off this evening, and we are going to start the evening with dinner." He looked at her clock. It was 2 in the afternoon. "Can you be ready at 6 o'clock?" She nodded silently. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Good. Dress nicely."

She raised her eyebrows at that and said, "Define nicely."

"Umm…court clothes, maybe? Something you'd wear to a nice restaurant." He winked.

He was rewarded with a bright Sara Sidle Smile.

"Now, my dear," he said lovingly. I am going to go home and take care of a few things. I will see you back here at 6 pm sharp, ok?" She nodded. He gave her a final peck on the cheek, and started to leave.

"Wait!" Sara said suddenly. He turned to her. "You brought a gift, remember?"

He smiled. "Yes, that I did. It's still on the coffee table, if you'd like to open it."

"I would," she said brightly, already on her way to the living room.

When she was settled on the couch, she picked up the small box and fingered it lovingly before ripping the paper off in a mad rush. The small leather box gave nothing away as to its contents, so she eagerly opened it and immediately gasped. "It's…it's beautiful," she said reverently.

"Do you like it?" he said, concern and self-doubt evident in his voice.

"I love it," she breathed. She lifted the necklace out of the box. It was a scarab beetle encased in amber, threaded onto a thin strip of soft leather.

"I bought it awhile ago," Grissom explained. "When I saw it, there was no question in my mind that it was made for you to wear. I knew it would look exquisite on you. May I?" he said, reaching for it. Sara relinquished the unusual piece of jewelry, and he lovingly placed it around her neck, fumbling momentarily with the clasp.

She turned to him and said, "What do you think?"

"I was right. It was made with you in mind."

Sara blushed and ducked her head. "Thank you. This really means a lot to me."

He didn't respond. He was too preoccupied with the picture of beauty in front of him. Yes, even in a tank top and sweatpants, with bedhead and the pale complexion born of a hangover, Sara Sidle was beautiful. He brushed the back of his fingers over her face and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I'll see you at 6," he whispered.

----------

Grissom went home and made reservations before falling into bed in an attempt to catch another hour or so of sleep before getting ready for his first date with Sara. At that thought, his pulse began to race. _'My first date with Sara…I never thought that would happen,'_ he mused.

At 4:30, his alarm went off and he hopped up, surprised at his level of excitement. He showered, brushed his teeth, and carefully selected a suit that he thought would complement his blue eyes nicely. As an afterthought, he sprayed on cologne. He never wore it at work, but he thought it might be a nice touch for a date. At 5:30 on the dot, he took a deep breath and headed to his door to make the twenty-minute drive to Sara's apartment, with a quick stop on the way.

At 6 pm sharp, Grissom stood at Sara's door, single red rose in hand. He rapped his knuckles against the wood and stood back, feeling very much like a teenager on his first date. After a moment, the door opened and Grissom couldn't help the gasp that escaped his throat as he looked at her. She was…positively stunning. She wore a strapless sundress in a brown and yellow stripe pattern. The sundress was short enough to reveal her shapely legs, but not so short as to be inappropriate. A pair of strappy brown sandals adorned her feet. Her jewelry consisted of only a silver watch and the scarab beetle necklace he had given her.

"Sara," Grissom managed. "You look…" he couldn't find the right word. "Beautiful," he breathed.

She smiled shyly. "Thank you. You look very handsome."

He handed her the rose. "This is for you, but now it seems rather pale in comparison."

She grinned at him as she took the flower. "Charmer," she said with a smile. "Come in while I put this in some water."

Five minutes later, the rose in a proper vase, Grissom and Sara were leaving her apartment. "Where are we going?" Sara asked in curiosity.

"Postrio at the Venetian, if that's okay with you," he answered.

"Mmm, very nice. I've never been there, but I've heard wonderful things."

"I checked to make sure there was plenty of vegetarian cuisine on the menu, so it should do nicely."

She was touched that he would remember to check on something like that for her. She smiled as he opened her car door for her.

They arrived at the Venetian just in time for their 6:30 reservation. Grissom slipped his hand into hers as he gave the maitre d' his name, and Sara felt light-headed at his very public display of affection. _'So unlike him,'_ she thought to herself.

Once seated, they fell into comfortable and casual conversation. Nothing too heavy, but nothing as mundane as the weather, either. They chatted about some cold cases that perpetually bugged them, a couple of recent journal articles that had intrigued them, and even a rare species of beetle that seemed to be making a comeback in the Nevada desert, much to Grissom's delight.

They enjoyed a delicious meal—she the Heirloom Tomato Salad, and he the Alaskan Halibut—but only after ascertaining that his entrée would not bother her. To his surprise, she said, "Actually, I do eat fish occasionally, so it won't bother me, I promise. Thank you, though."

When they had finished their meal, Grissom settled the bill, stood up to get Sara's chair for her, and offered her his arm. As she looked on in shock, he smiled and said, "Just doing things the way my mother raised me to do them. Is that okay?"

She loved his concern. "Well, I've always been something of a feminist, but I think I could get used to this!" She winked at him and he chuckled lightly before leaning in to peck her cheek.

"Good," he murmured. Sara struggled to keep her jaw in its proper place. Had Gil Grissom just kissed her on the cheek in public?

Once they were outside the restaurant, Grissom took her hand. "What now?" Sara asked.

"Do you like art?" he asked cryptically.

"Yes…" she said.

"Would you like to go to the Guggenheim?" he asked, pointing farther into the Venetian.

Her face lit up. "Absolutely!" she cried. "I haven't seen the new exhibit!"

(---)

Grissom watched in delight as Sara's observant eyes took in every detail of the beautiful works in the "Pursuit of Pleasure" exhibit at the Guggenheim. She seemed particularly fascinated by the Chagall painting on display, _The Soldier Drinks._ "Look," she breathed softly. "Look at the strong lines, his amazing use of color here."

Grissom shook his head in disbelief. "Is there anything you're not an expert on?" he asked with a smile.

She turned to him. "Gil Grissom," she whispered, not unkindly.

Her words stung. "I'll make sure I change that," he said seriously, his eyes locked on hers. He was rewarded with a small smile. He decided to start immediately. "Did you know my mother owned an art gallery?"

"Yes," she said succinctly, but not rudely. "Did you know I used to paint in high school?"

He gave her a look of surprise. "No. I didn't."

She shrugged. "Just a hobby, really. I always enjoyed it, though. I haven't picked up a brush in years."

He shook his head in wonder. The things one learned about Sara Sidle…

Over the next hour or so, they saw works by Edgar Degas, Edouard Manet, Pablo Picasso, and Henri Rousseau, among others. Grissom shared his knowledge of art, as well as some of his experiences as a gallery owner's son, and Sara continued to impress Grissom with the breadth of her artistic knowledge, as well. By the time they finished their journey and wandered back out into the Venetian, they were laughing and talking animatedly, all the tensions of the previous months seemingly forgotten.

As Grissom reached for her hand yet again, Sara turned and looked at him searchingly. She seemed to be considering something, and she finally leaned her head to the side and asked, "Would you like to come back to my apartment and have coffee with me? No pressure," she said quietly, almost as an afterthought.

Grissom smiled warmly at her. "Nothing would please me more," he said in a low voice.


	5. Feelings In Color

CHAPTER 5

Scully's A/N: Way to go Holly, leave the sex scene up to the girl who freakin' got censured for a week. :::waves hands::: I'm over here!!! I'm rating this chapter R! Please don't get anal and take it down!!! Please!?!?!

Anyway, I'm in such a bad mood. I might have to take a poly-sci class with Professor Dushku, you might recognize the name because she's the mom of Eliza Dushku the actress. Anyway, she's a bitch and I really don't want to take her class. Also found out Eliza was gonna go to Suffolk, then got the part of Faith in Buffy. Well… you wouldn't wanna come here anyway. Urgh. Also, forgot how wonderful 'Bringing Down The Horse' by The Wallflowers is. It's fantastic. And you should all go check out Averi, they kick ass (and went to Suffolk too!)

Believe me, you needed to know all of that.

---

They arrived back to her house in record time, both of them having spent the ride in companionable silence.

Upon reaching her apartment and having exited the vehicle, Grissom found the small of her back with his hand and guided them up her stairs and into her apartment.

She laughed at him as he loosened his tie and rid himself of the restricting blazer he had adorned. "What?" He asked breathlessly, falling to the couch in a blatant display of exhaustion.

"You. It's just amusing. You… being, well… romantic. Overbearingly so. It's amusing." He looked at her, slightly hurt, slightly surprised. "Not that I don't enjoy it thoroughly," She carried on, sending him a demure look over her shoulder. "It'll just, take some getting used to. I'm not used to being treated…" She searched for the words that she wanted "So preciously." Sara finished while searching through her cupboards for coffee.

Grissom sat back and closed his eyes. "Overbearing, I know, I'm just unsure of how to express myself to you… fully. It's understood that roses aren't the most creative of symbols, but that's just it. It's what it symbolizes. The context of it all Sara." He peeked open her eyes to look at her.

She smiled at him from the kitchen while retrieving two mugs. "You could always, you know, tell me. You've never been good at voicing things Griss, in case you didn't know." She commented sarcastically, disappearing from his line of vision to slip off her sandals.

"Oh dear, Ms. Sidle, I'm quite aware of that, but my words do impose certain things, and I'd hate for you to interpret them incorrectly." He mused.

Staring him down she spoke. "If you're afraid I'll interpret them incorrectly, then why are you here Griss?" Her voice was tinged with bitterness, but only a hint of it. To say the least she was truly curious why he couldn't simply state what was on his mind, why he had to hide behind wit and quotations.

Grissom sat up, his hands to his lips, resting on his knees. "I'm here, Sara, so I can show you how deeply I feel for you… with my body." He stated frankly, knocking the wind from her.

"Oh." She said and turned her attention back to the coffee, which was sitting the pot, steaming.

As she poured, Grissom got off of the couch and walked quietly up behind her. She sensed him behind her but refused to turn around. Her cheeks were burning and she was sure she would-

His lips landed at the hollow between her neck and shoulder when they kissed lightly.

"Ungh." Sara groaned out, barely unintelligible. The coffee pot slipped from her hand and clattered onto the counter, barely staying upright. Allowing her head to roll back onto Grissom's shoulder, she gave him a new exquisite spanse of neck to feast on.

Strong hands slid down her hips, smoothing her dress over the contours of her body slickly. 'Not fair, not fair, not fair!' her mind screamed at her. Her body responded in kind 'But so, so, so good, so, so, so much more erotic than you ever thought, isn't it?'

If Sara was asked, she would never admit to him that she didn't think he was capable of making her body go limp. Surely, she knew that he could make her frenzied with want, absolute with need, but to completely surrender to his will? Sara never thought that would happen.

And to think, just a little press of lips to ski-

Grissom's mouth detoured south as he explored the naked expanse of her back that peeked out above the yellow and brown fabric.

And romancing her back. No man before had even bothered to consider the skin there erogenous. So many wonderful surprises. His nimble fingers, and they were nimble, worked over the taught muscles of her shoulders and Sara was sure that she would never be able to lift her head again.

Groaning at his ministrations, she bent forward to brace herself on the kitchen counter, cool formica shocking her heated skin. She gasped and he chuckled, having seen her movement. Quickly, Grissom took the opportunity to move himself in front of her, as he was sure that she was quite unable to move.

Lifting her chin with a hand he looked to her eyes quickly and then claimed her lips, in a kiss that was more than searing more than deep. While her lips were captivated into dancing with his, his deft fingers once again set to work on her body, skimming over the back of her neck. They paused at the tiny zipper on the back of her dress, easing it down slowly, knowing full well that his teasing was only serving to heighten her arousal.

She laughed to the best of her ability when the fabric got caught in between their bodies.

He chuckled, just a bit, and swept the hair off of her neck as if in a grand gesture. "At the risk of taking this too quickly… I want you in the bedroom and undress in under thirty seconds."

She stepped back, allowing the dress to fall from her body. "That a command."

"'S'an order." He growled out, scanning her wonderfully tanned skin clad only in an innocent pair of green lace panties and white cotton strapless bra. "Dress for the occasion?" Grissom asked, taking in her appearancen

Sara nearly laughed. "This… is not dressing for the occasion. This," She indicated her body with sweeping hand motions. "Is not sexy, it's simple."

Grissom's eyes darkened and he moved forward once more, taking her in his arms. "Ah, but that's what makes it sexy. Who needs to overdress if it's just coming off?" He nipped her ear. "Besides, you'd look exquisite in anything." He bit her neck. "And before you comment on my "waxing poetic", I mean that completely. Exquisite Sara."

Sara bit her lips for a moment touched by his words. She then waggled her eyebrows and dashed down her hall, followed by Grissom, stalking after her.

It seemed that as soon as she stepped into her bedroom, she lost her nerve. Suddenly feeling incredibly naked and inappropriate, she paused, and he walked straight up behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her torso.

Sara's cheeks burned furiously, she was completely unsure.

Grissom allowed his chin to fall to his shoulder. He inhaled her scent as she felt a familiar lump well up in her throat.

"I'm not going to push you Sara, even though you've been pushing me for god knows how long," He shifted his hips in an attempt to convey that he said it in jest, she understood. "But you have to know I love you. Deeper than that though, and just, well, to say, I mean for me to say, to express to you… if I could spend the rest of my life with you **not** having sex, I'd still be happy."

Sara laughed and eased up a bit. "But honey, what you'd do to me if you were ever to be underneath me…" He growled into her ear, voice dripping with honey and promise.

"Kiss me." Sara urged him, knowing that at that point, she was completely helpless to make a move.

Spinning her around in his arms, he did as he was told, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth, gently nibbling and sucking. Her lips twitched a bit and he moved to kiss her properly, slowly dragging his tongue along hers.

Minutes later, his hands over the cotton and metal at her back, he looked into her eyes, silently asking her permission. Sara smiled slightly, placing her hands over his, drawing them up around her back to rid her of the material. Her panties followed suit quickly until she was bare before him.

Moments later, after demure touches and hesitant kisses, she had rid him of his clothing as well, and they laid together beneath her cool sheets, as if unsure of what to do next.

Grissom, who was looking at her tenderly, brought a hesitant hand up to stroke her hair. Her face moved into his touch and he took that as a cue to roll over and kiss her. "Sara Sidle, radiant little goddess in bed. What a queen you would be in mine."

And then, with a gasp she was around him, and he was over her, loving her body with his in a way that she was completely sure she had never experienced.

Later, in the early hours of the morning, hours which her body was accustomed to experiencing the lab, she was wrapped tightly in the arms of her boss feeling sated.

If she had thought that she couldn't move her head before… her body was now paralyzed, though oddly… responsive. Her thighs were sore in an excruciating manner, and her neck was marred, but not in a bad way.

Somehow, she managed to stretch while still in the warmth of his arms. He smiled into her neck, his beard nickling her over-sensitive skin until she giggled, wiggled, and flipped around in his arms.

"Love you?" She whispered, more of a question than a statement, as if she was asking if it was alright to say it then, afterward.

"Gee, I don't know, do you?" He asked, feigning that he was perplexed until she laid a hand over his heart, her eyes glittering with tears she did not wish to spill.

"Love you." She stated.

'Denied myself this wonderful untold pleasure too long. How long waiting on, waiting for, waiting too.' He shifted, securing his arm around her. "Sara Sidle, are you getting… **romantic** on me?" He asked and she smacked him in the arm, grinning.

As she was moving in for another hit, he grabbed her arm and uncurled her palm with his hand, placing it on his heart. "Feel it, tell me if I love you."


	6. Lifeblood

**Geek's A/N: You're welcome, Leslie! I just wanted to leave the smut to the smut expert! As I said, you're just so damn good at it! (Reference ch. 4 A/N for details). Sorry this is a short chapter, but the old muse wasn't really cooperating. So sad.**

**Also, this may seem cheesy, but the dream that Grissom talks about in this chapter is for real. I had this dream when I was twelve years old, and I never forgot it. It was a sandy blonde guy with no face. I thought about that dream with every guy I ever dated until I was 20. When I started dating my husband, I immediately knew that he was the guy in the dream. Sorry if that's too sappy, but it's a true story. :) **

Sara closed her eyes as Grissom held her palm against the smooth, warm flesh of his chest. She breathed deeply as she felt his heartbeat, a strong, soothing rhythm. Slowly, he leaned forward to kiss her, and as he did, his heart began to speed up. She was ready to chalk it up to mere infatuation when she realized that it wasn't beating wildly—it was simply a slightly quicker, stronger rhythm than before. _'Lifeblood,' _she thought inexplicably. Grissom pulled back gently and said, "Tell me. Tell me if I love you."

Sara opened her eyes to him, revealing deep mocha eyes that were richer than any he had ever looked into. Slowly, and so quietly he could barely hear her, she whispered, "Yes. You love me." Gaining confidence, she said, "You love me more than you know, and you have for longer than you realize."

He nodded slightly. "Yes. I love you, Sara Sidle." He took a deep breath, hoping that what he was going to say next wouldn't sound too hokey. "In fact, I've loved you since before you were born." He smiled almost imperceptibly at the shock in her eyes. Then, suddenly feeling foolish, he stumbled over his next words. "Umm, when I was twelve, I, ah, oh, never mind, it's stupid," he finally muttered in frustration.

Sara, clearly intrigued, encouraged him. "No, please. Tell me."

He searched her eyes for a moment, looking for any hint of ridicule. Seeing none, he continued. "When I was twelve, I had a dream. It was only once, and I've never had it since, but I've never forgotten it. I was standing outside my school, and there were people everywhere. It was some sort of school festival, I think. I was standing still, just looking around. Suddenly, I looked straight ahead, and there was this girl standing there, not five feet in front of me, just staring at me. She had dark hair, but I couldn't see her face. As soon as I saw her, I was filled with this unimaginable love. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced as a twelve year old child. It was almost too much for my heart to handle. And when I woke up, it was still there. I almost felt burdened by the intensity of it—my love for the unknown brunette in my dream." He paused, at a loss for words. After a moment, he continued. "That dream has haunted me since then. Who was the mysterious girl? Why did I love her so much? And _what did her face look like?_ I never knew, until now," he said quietly. Not waiting for her response, he continued, "I knew in my heart, even at twelve, that the girl in my dream was the girl I would one day—" he caught himself before he said the word _'marry.' _The last thing he needed was to scare her off. "Fall in love with," he finished quickly.

If Sara noticed the break in his words, she didn't let on as she breathed out in awe. "You dreamed this when you were twelve?" she whispered, transfixed. At his nod, she said, "That was—"

"Three years before you were born," he finished. "Rather unscientific of me, huh?" he said with a small smile. "Normally I scoff at things like destiny and chance and foreshadowing." His voice grew wistful. "But maybe I've been doing myself a disservice. There are some things in life that science just doesn't apply to," he admitted quietly.

At this, Sara's eyebrows lifted and her mouth opened just slightly. _'Those are words I never I thought I'd hear from the mouth of Gil Grissom…not in this lifetime, anyway.'_

Grissom looked at her warily. "You're laughing at me."

"No. I'm not. I'm just very surprised. This is…a little out of character for you, you have to admit. Not very much like the Gil Grissom we all know and love," she said lightly.

He gave a heavy sigh. "Sara, I'm _tired _of that Gil Grissom. No, I'm _weary _of him," he said, choosing a word that more accurately reflected his true feelings. "My entire life, I've…I've been afraid," he said, struggling to find the words to express what he was trying to make her understand. "Afraid to love, afraid to lose…afraid to _live, _Sara," he finished passionately. "But in closing myself off, I inadvertently did myself a disservice. I think…I think the emotional toll has been much higher that way." He shrugged helplessly, frustrated with his inability to convey his point. "In my efforts to protect myself, I actually damaged myself emotionally." He gave a mirthless laugh at the irony. "Maybe it was…I don't know, maybe it was because I didn't have anyone to help shoulder the burden. Maybe it was because at their most basic, human beings just aren't meant to be alone—even the odd ducks like myself. Who knows?" He paused, searching her eyes for understanding. To his immense surprise, he found it, shining out from the brown depths. She understood him. She really did. In awe, he continued. "But none of that matters anymore. I've wasted 48 years of my life, and that is far too much," he said with conviction. "There's nothing I can do about the past. But I can sure as hell do something about my future. And I don't want to spend my future alone, Sara. However, I don't want to spend it with just anyone. Ideally," he smiled, "I'd like to spend it with the girl from my dream. With _you, _Sara," he finished, unsure if he'd gone too far.

She looked at him in mild shock, completely unsure of what he had just proposed. _'Bad choice of words! Bad choice of words!' _she berated herself. But what _had _he proposed? 'Going steady,' (_'What an archaic phrase!' _she thought wildly), cohabitation, marriage, children? What was he saying? Gil Grissom, a changed man perhaps, but as cryptic as ever. Drawing in a breath, she steeled herself and asked softly, "Spell it out for me, Griss. What exactly are you saying?"

**Additional A/N: ::evil laugh from Holly:: Muahahahaha!!!! Here ya go, Leslie! Have fun!**


	7. Momentos

A/N: Soft pore corn Holly. Really now.

And just in the spirit of Katherine:

Buffy: Let's face it Will, your basic spells are 50/50.

Willow: Oh yeah... well.. SO'S YOUR FACE!

---

Grissom rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. 'Too much Gil, too much. You're saying too damn much.' His brain chided, his eyes slipping closed as he winced against the words his brain formed.

Sara rolled onto her side, head propped on a shaky palm, watching as his face contorted in a cacophony of emotions. "Griss? What were you saying?"

If it had been under any other circumstance, he would have been upset with her for prying, but she deserved to know. Eyes still closed, Gil Grissom imagined the woman to his left with a small engagement ring; with a white gold wedding band; smiling when they went to get their papers; moving in, the picture of domestic bliss; happy and healthy carrying his-

"I'm sorry Sara, I have no right to- I went too far." He rolled over onto his right side, cutting himself off from her.

Not saying anything had hurt her more than it should have, more than he had thought it would. She plopped herself back down onto the pillow, willing herself not to get angry. 'Did you really think Sara? Did you think Gil Grissom would change for you?' Mentally, she laughed at herself.

"Right." She spat emotionlessly. She too turned onto her side, their backs facing each other. They listened to the other breathe for long moments, each wanting to say something, neither having a clue how to spit it out.

The bed shifted, and Sara felt Grissom's heaton her back as he wrapped an arm around her. He was reaching out to her, and that was something she supposed. He kissed the nape of her neck gently and Sara emitting a shaky breath, willing herself not to cry. 'Don't cry, don't you do it.'

"I'm sorry." He began, stroking the skin of her stomach. "I do want to spend... just, forever with you Sara, but I can't... it's not my place to make a claim over you. That's taking it too far."

"No it isn't." She said angrily, body tensing in his arms and he was thrown off for a moment. "No it isn't. I've waited this long for you Griss. You know I'd have waited forever. It's like a sickness, you're a sickness. Terminal. I would have waited for you and you know it. I claimed you a long time ago, whether or not you accept that, I did." She threw him a glare over her shoulder. "So don't give me that shit Griss. Even if you didn't know it, you've had a claim on me for years now."

He leaned into her, closer, heaved out a tension filled sigh that bathed her neck in warmth.

"You break me Sara." He whispered, not really intending to say it.

"No, I can break you Gil, and you can break me too. And that's the risk that everyone else but you is willing to take. I never saw you as a coward Gil." She concluded with a dejected sigh.

"Yes Sara, you can. And you have, but that's... that's my fault."

"And you've broken me too. But I piece back together. I always do." Sara claimed, rolling over in his arms. "And if you can't handle that, if you're indecisive, it's better that this just... not go any further." Her chest constricted when she spoke the words, and the tears pushed the invisible barrier that she had carefully constructed.

He rolled onto his back then, reprimanding himself internally for being so indecisive. He'd just taken her to dinner, he'd just made love to her... and it felt like he'd been doing it forever. What could be more right?

She too rolled over, to see what he was thinking. His eyes were closed again, his face relaxed, peaceful. His palms lay atop his chest, where they rose and fell with each breath. For a moment, she thought that he was asleep, but his eyes popped open, looking directly at her.

"I want to marry you." He said, crisp and clear, no room for interpretation. "I think that I should marry you, Sara." He stressed, and looked back at the ceiling, still calm, still relaxed, waiting for her to truly feel the weight of his words.

Her mouth fell open and she stared at him. "You're... insane." She said flatly. "And, and..."

Grissom peeked over at her, and then returned to staring at the flecks of glitter on her ceiling. "Are you asking me that, or are you telling me that?" Her voice had taken on a decidedly different tone then, coming out more as a squeak than actual English?

'"If I asked you, would you really say yes?" He asked, doubting even then that her answer would be the affirmative.

"Yes." She answered immediately, her head propped on her han once more, as she watched his face go from placid to utterly shocked, speechless. She grinned and he turned to her, looking like a fish out of water, mouth opening steadily-open and closed.

"After three days?" It was his turn to squeak then, and she laughed, bringing her free hand out to toy with his hair.

"Gil, it's been thirteen years." She said matter-of-factly, and he returned to stare at the ceiling in shock."And if your dream is any indication, I've had you... my whole life. Which is saying alot, because I ain't getting any younger."

He scoffed at her comment. "Ain't isn't a word."

"It's in the dictionary and you're avoiding the matter at hand. I just said that I'd marry you Gil, all you have to do is ask." Frantically, she grabbed his hand and held it tightly.

His lips quirked up on one side, as did his brow when he looked at her. She smiled, a toothy grin, and it was his undoing. He quickly rolled over and engulfed her with his arms and despite herself she laughed throatily. "Unlike some of the things I've done in the past, this has to be done right. I'm not half assing it." He pondered for a moment. "And I can't believe that only after three days..."

"Griss, this is where you let. It. Go." She chided, digging her nails into his forearm softly. "This place, right here, let it all go." She urged. "Tell me you love me." Sara said straight to his face.

He smiled at the ceiling, and then looked at her. "I love you."

She grinned back and smacked him on the arm. "Far be it for me to say, but really, that's all that maters. You need to stop being so damn analytical and just... just... feel the breeze." She took his hand, licked his pointer finger and held it in the air. "See, breeze. Feel it?"

Strange, strange, so very strange, giddy, weightless, she felt like she was teaching him something. And odd, how much younger he felt with her.

"So much for testing the waters Sara, you just jumping in. Cannonballed even."

Sara sighed happily and stretched. "Mmm, I'm over this whole 'waiting for people to break my heart' deal. It's so last year." She said in jest. "I'm all about seize the moment now." She finished when she came out of her cat-like pose.

Grisosm allowed her words to settle. "Mmm and what happens when the moment's over?"

Sara stared him down. "I intend for this to be a really long moment. Very eventful." She grinned and kissed him deeply, rolling onto his chest and peering down into his eyes.

"Momentous?" He shot back?

"Mmm." She moaned, puling on his lips with her teeth. She set up camp there for a few moments. "The best moments are."


	8. Spur of the Moment

**A/N: Yes, soft pore corn. Note to readers: Do NOT drink an assload of wine, call your friend in Boston, and then actually think you're going to say anything coherent. Ok? It's just not going to work. You'll end up saying stuff like soft pore corn, which sounds like some kind of genetically-engineered food.**

Once, she had taken a chance on him. Twice, actually. The first was when she agreed to stay in Vegas. The second had been when she had asked him to dinner—and he had turned her down. Cold. Then he had followed it up with what had to be the lamest excuse in the history of man.

"Sara…I don't know what to do about this."

What the hell had he been thinking when he uttered those words?

Simple. He _hadn't _been thinking. His heart had taken control of his mouth and the plain and simple truth of the matter was that no matter how much he loved her, he was just that much _more_ terrified of her. His heart was frozen in fear.

And now, as he held a once-again sleeping Sara Sidle in his arms, he knew what he had to do. She had taken a chance on him. Now it was his turn to take a chance on her—to take a chance that she wouldn't get bored with him, wouldn't get frustrated with him, wouldn't simply wake up one day and decide to leave him. The ball was in his court; she had been patient enough.

His lips formed a small smile as he carefully removed himself from her bed, trying not to wake her.

"Mmmph," she said, rolling over to face him. "Where're you going?"

He smiled down at her and gently bent to brush his hands over her face. "I have to run some errands and take care of some of life's dreary details," he lied. "But may I take you to dinner before work tonight?" he asked to soften the blow.

"Mmm," she smiled. "That sounds nice. Where are we going?"

"I don't know yet. Dress nicely."

"What are you trying to do? Spoil me?"

'_You have no idea,' _he thought.

----------

As Grissom drove through the streets of Las Vegas, his mind engaged itself in an exhaustive debate over whether or not to do what he had already decided to do. Even as he walked into the jewelry store, one part of his mind was screaming, _'Don't do it! Don't do it! She'll never say yes!'_

As the jeweler approached him, Grissom took a deep breath and steeled himself. Before he could change his mind yet again, he blurted out, "I need to buy an engagement ring."

---------

Sara fiddled nervously with her necklace as she waited for Grissom to pick her up. Her mind was spinning out of control from their earlier conversation. She couldn't believe she had been able to go back to sleep after telling the man balls-out that she would marry him if only he asked. _'God, what were you thinking, laying it on the line like that?'_

She stood up and began to pace her living room. It wasn't entirely insane of her to do what she had done. After all, he had said it first. "I want to marry you." Plain as day. _'But then he went all fucking enigmatic again!' _she screamed to herself. When the urge to put her fist through the wall hit her, she willed herself to calm down by taking a number of deep, cleansing breaths.

Just as she was beginning to feel like a normal human being again, the doorbell rang.

----------

The ride to the restaurant was spent in relative silence. Sara had a constant flutter in her stomach, which wasn't helped by Grissom's gentle hand lying encasing hers. Her eyes grew large as she realized where he was taking her.

"The Eiffel Tower Restaurant?" she spoke in amazement.

"I heard it has a nice view," he said with a small smile.

Ten minutes later, they had parked and he was holding her against him as the glass elevator whisked them to the eleventh floor of the fifty-floor Eiffel Tower replica.

Sara eagerly ordered the only vegetarian entrée on the menu, the Baked Cassoulet of Twelve Vegetables and Belgium Endives. When she had finished the last bite, she looked at Grissom, licked her lips appreciatively, and declared that she would have to dine at five-star restaurants much more often. "Ah, this is the life," she said, tongue-in-cheek, causing him to tilt his head to the side and give her a most disarming smile.

"Got room for dessert?" he inquired.

"Ugh," she said, nose wrinkled. "I'd love to, but I'm afraid my tummy would explode."

He nodded his head in understanding and flagged down their waiter. After taking care of the bill, he stood, gave Sara his hand, and said, "Would you like to take a little tour before work?"

She wrinkled her eyebrows in a gesture of confusion, and said, "A tour?"

A sly grin. "Follow me, Miss Sidle."

A moment later, they were back in the glass elevator, but they were heading up, rather than down. Sara looked at him and grinned in understanding.

"Wow," she murmured. "I've never been up here, but I've heard the view is outstanding."

"As have I," he replied, his heart suddenly racing. He willed himself to breathe deeply, so as not to tip Sara off to his nervousness. "Close your eyes," he said on the spur-of-the-moment. "That will make it all the more breathtaking when you suddenly open your eyes and see everything."

Sara grinned and let her eyes flutter closed. Grissom fingered the outline of the small box in his pocket and swallowed hard.

A moment later, the elevator reached the top and the doors slid open. Grissom reached for Sara's hands and pulled her out of the elevator. "Open your eyes," he whispered.

When she opened her eyes, she simply gasped, placing her two slender hands at her mouth. After a moment, she whispered, "I never knew Las Vegas could be so beautiful." Grissom took the opportunity to slip behind her and drop to one knee, suddenly oblivious to the other people milling about. When he didn't reply, she turned to him and blinked for a moment, not seeing him. The she looked down and saw his head—at eye-level with her stomach. He was kneeling and holding a small black box as he looked up at her with shining blue eyes.

As her brain began to register what was happening, she thought for a moment that she might throw up, but the next words out of his mouth chased away all thoughts of nausea.

"You said all I'd have to do is ask. Sara, will you marry me?"


	9. New Moon Rising

**Scully's A/N: Well, Holly brought the sap... but it can't be that easy, he should have to work for it damn it! And all of you reviewers... I expect tons on this chapter! Got it? Show Holly you mean business. Heh.**

**And yeah, some of you are beginning to notice that we leave little cliff hangers at the end of the chapters without telling the other... you can't even imagine how many calls we've made to each other after reading the other's chapter, beginning the conversation with, "You bitch!"**

---

She laughed, laughed long and hard, bracing herself on his shoulder. He was perched there, bewildered, as people look on in astonishment.

"Wha-what?" She gasped out, bringing her hand once again to her mouth.

"Are you insane? Are you? Really?" She gestured wildly with her hands, grinning to the point of explosion. "Grissom, really. Are you insane?"

He shrugged, embarrassed at being down on one knee in front of so many people. "I guess I am." He shrugged again.

"Three days after..." She bit her lips and grinned again. "This is so insane." She whispered. Sara bent down next to him and leaned her forehead against his.

"Griss. It's been... we're not even really toge-... what the hell is going through your head? You can't talk to me for... for years and then you pull this? Grissom. Gil, god damn it, what the hell are you... I think I might vomit." Sara paused, swallowed, and grabbed his face.

"I don't think you understand, do you even know what you're saying? Three days. Less, shit, I can't even remember. Avoid me all these years and... tell me you love me, I want you to look at me and say it." She grasped his face hard and then let him go, giving him free will.

He looked to the ground, to the ring, to her face. Several people had stopped to watch the encounter but they had tuned them out. "Sara, ... Sara, I..." He looked up at the people for a moment, closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. "Coward that I am, I love you. More than I'm..." He moved in as close as he could towards her ear. "Willing to admit in front of all of these people, but give me time."

He pulled back his hand on the back of neck, and they both grinned. "Gil, Griss... Gil... god..." Her head fell to her chest and she grinned wider than she had in awhile. "This... I know, the ring... you gave it some thought, but really. Are you being logical? I'll be the first to admit, I'm temperamental. Difficult. Griss, I'm a bitch when I want to be, and you're... you're so set in your ways... I don't... wouldn't... I know that if this started, I wouldn't, god, I wouldn't want this to end."

She held the back of his neck hard, her nails digging into the skin there, he, feeling both pain and pleasure. She spoke, her eyes closed, as he watched on.

"Don't rush into this because of me, and god, what about work? Neither of us want to leave and, jesus Griss-"

"I love you, Sara." He said, voice steady and even, surer of himself than she had ever heard him. But she plowed on, pretending like she hadn't heard him.

"Fifty years without change... what do I know... I mean... I'm just, just here." She peered up to him, her eyes seeming bigger from the tears pooling in them. "And I, I know you." She heaved a heavy breath into her lungs. "You change your mind like that." She snapped her fingers close by his ear and he jumped. But still, he sat on his heels and listened, though his calves and thighs had gone numb.

"I'm not sure... this shift... this change of heart is enough to... Griss..." She paused and smiled longingly. "Known you as that forever, loved you as it, love you as it. Griss..." A tear slipped out and she swiped at it violently. Sara Sidle didn't fucking cry. No, she didn't cry. She swiped at another.

"Oh fuck me." She spoke quickly. "You and I both know that I've never had anything like happen to me, like this. Griss, damn you, you're the only person I've really been in love with and-" She licked her lips, rambling on, as his eyes slipped closed and he grinned on.

His Sara, always so analytical. Pulling everything apart at the seams.

"I am, in love with you... I think I mean I can't stop thinking about you and, it's just not-" He cut her off by kissing her briefly.

She pulled away from him, standing up, bring her with him. They looked at the people who were gathered around then and moved off into a more secluded portion of the area. His head fell to his chest and he felt about thirty years younger. So insecure... so, so insecure.

It wasn't right, how willing she was to let her feeling spill over. She leaned over the edge of the viewing ledge and looked toward the pavement. So, so very far down. At the top... and the ground, reality, so far down.

"Gil," She continued, balancing on the hard, black steel, looking at the ground, her hands perpendicular to her torso, lip between her teeth. She swayed from side to side, attempting to keep balance, moving her arms as she did so. Grissom grabbed her arm and she fell from the bar into his arms.

He grinned, her expression was blank. "Sara, do you ever stop talking?"

She didn't smile, instead extracting herself from his arms. "No..." He grinned and pushed a section of hair away from her face. "Griss..." She began. "Did you do this because you thought it would be better this way or because you thought it was what I wanted or because it was what you wanted to do..."

Grissom stared at her and pulled her toward the elevator. She didn't pause, followed him, and allowed him to take her to the ground floor, to the car.

She was confused, utterly confused, as he opened the door for her. She made a move to protest but he placed a finger over her lips and ushered her into her seat. Patiently, she sat as he clambered in, turned the vehicle on and drove away, far away from the city. Sara looked at him from time to time, tracing the slight worry lines of his face with her eyes.

He veered off the road, fifteen minutes out of the city and slowed from sixty to twenty-five. Sara looked from the darkened foliage of the passing scenery to her pilot. "You know, if you're going to kill me, can you at least, give me a moment to set my financial documents in order. It is only eight on the east coast..." She trailed off. Gil shot her a sardonic glance and turned his attention back to the road.

She sighed and fell back into her seat, crossed her arms over her chest. Quickly, he pulled the SUV over, swinging her into the door.

"Couldn'ta just given me a simple answer." He heaved, jumping from the car, walking around to let her out. She glared at him and hopped down.

Taking her hand, he led her through the brush to a low clearing, a rock, that looked over an expanse of canyon. Sara resigned herself to being led until she was introduced to the view... then she gasped.

"Remember?" He asked, squeezing her hand.

Sara chuckled and was brought back to five years earlier, to when he had driven her out to the cliff, told her to get out of the car and follow him. She had, without question, and they had ended their trek at the cliff, overlooking the canyon, the moon high in the sky.

She'd felt young and inadequate then, though she shouldn't have. An empowered female, she felt that she could conquer anything then, anything but him.

She remembered him pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose and casting a glance at her. She discerned that it had been vaguely expectant. He'd asked her then, on that rock, to tell him what she saw. In few words, she'd expressed the entire expanse of land, the sky, the ground, him, in perfect startling detail.

Her chin fell to her chest as she remembered. "Of course I do."

He was skeptical. "Do you?"

She shot him a glance and looked to the sky. "Ground parched, no rain for at least three weeks, not a drop. The vegetation is wilting, more than it should be. We're about a thousand feet up and the air is too crisp for this time of year." She recited from memory. "Storm coming on. And it's three days from the new moon. A time for a big storm."

Sara crossed her arms over her chest, cutting herself off from the chill of the air. Glancing at him with a confident grin, she continued. "And it's bright, good light, easy to commit crimes without artificial light, easier to get away with it."

He nodded urging her on. "And it's humid, but just slightly, prints, footprints will hold longer in this atmosphere." Sara wracked her brain attempting to recall what he had said next. But he hadn't said anything. She was still speaking. "But you already knew that." She grinned, turning to him. "Why did you bring me here Griss?"

Five years prior he had told her that he had brought her there to test her, on the spot, no preparation.

He spoke then, moving forward. "Sara, marry me, just... just marry me." He threw his hand up, pulling the black, velvet box from his pocket once more.

Sara was caught off guard at his second attempt and stumbled back. "No!" She screeched, laughing.

He withered a little bit, smiling, moving to stand. He stalked towards her and backed her into a dry trunk of a tree. "But Sara..." He wiggled the box in front of her. "You haven't even taken a look at the ring yet." He smirked and tilted his head in his patented Grissom manner.

She shook her head, closing her eyes as her mouth erupted in a grin. "Won't affect my answer." She promised, but cracked her eyes open as he cracked the box open.

Peeking down, she whimpered. "No fair."

"No fair?"

"Attempting to ply me with expensive jewelry."

"I'll ply you with my lips if you'd like... and how do you know it's expensive?" He asked, dropping his lips beside her ear, heaving out hot breaths on her skin.

Sara laughed against his shoulder as his lips toyed with the skin of her neck. "It's a... oh... every, every woman knows."

Grissom laughed against her and pulled back, staring her down, feeling more bare than he'd ever felt before. "Sara, stop being so... just marry me, okay? I love you... you, you love me..." He looked to her eyes to confirm his statement. "And, damn it Sara, you know I'm not good at this. Take the damn ring."

His head fell and he thrust the box at her. She smiled and shot back, "Put it on me."

His expression was blank as he fumbled with the emerald cut ring. His hand shook as he eased it on her finger.

Sara, the investigator, held her hand out in front of her and wiggled her fingers. She looked from him, to the moon to the base of the canyon. She frowned.

"Sara..." Grissom drew, grabbing her un-ringed hand in his.

"Yes, yeah, I'll marry you." She whispered, not looking at him, but the moon.

"This wasn't what I was talking about when I was saying you should let go, Gil." She said, her face directly in front of his.

"Don't care."


	10. Confessions

**Geek's A/N: Leslie is my hero. Really, y'all. Who else can I call up on my way home from school and just gab with? I mean, besides my husband. And who else can I drunk-dial and ramble to for like 30 minutes straight? **

**So Lez, here's to you. And here's to meeting up in NYC one day and getting unfathomably trashed together! ;)**

**Oh, yeah, one more thing. You BITCH! How could you leave me with something so…open-ended? ;)**

Sara was still gazing at the moon, a half-smile on her face, when Grissom tilted his head to the side and said, "So what _did_ you mean?"

She tore her eyes from the moon and looked at him, the same half-smile still playing upon her lips. "I mean that you needed to let go of all the insecurity, the questions, the uncertainty, and just go with it. With _us,_" she emphasized.

He smiled. "Point taken." He thought for a moment. "So you'll really do it? You'll marry me?"

She looked at him. "I said yes, didn't I?" A small chuckle. "I can promise you, Gil, I wouldn't have said yes unless I meant it. So that brings me to the inevitable question…why did you do this? Because you felt like you had to? Because you wanted to? Because you thought _I_ wanted you to?" She looked him in the eyes, unwavering.

He gave her a solemn smile and a searching look. Reaching for her hands, he gazed first at the ring, then back up into her face. "Sara…" he started. Regrouping, he took a deep breath and said, "Sara, I asked you to marry me for one reason and one reason only. I want to marry you. That's it," he shrugged. "I've loved you for years, God help me, and once I had you in my arms, I knew I could never let you go. It's what I've always been afraid of—that once I got a taste of you, I could never get enough. As it turned out, I was right." He paused. "So I want to make you mine. Forever." His eyes seared into her soul, searching her out. He clenched her hands tighter, suddenly sounding desperate. "You meant it? You'll really have me?"

An exasperated grin. "As I said before, Griss…Let. It. Go." He looked at her, blinking once. She smiled again and rolled her eyes, knowing that he needed her to spell it out. "Yes, Griss. I'll have you. Not only that. I _want _you."

Excitement suddenly overtook her and she couldn't help herself; she smiled wildly and threw her arms around him. "Yes, Gil," she whispered. "I'll be your wife."

He let out a joyous laugh and whirled her around in a bear hug before putting her back down on the ground and kissing her gently on the nose. "I'm going to do everything in my power to make you the happiest woman in the world," he whispered. Then suddenly, his face changed. "Shit! We're late for work!"

----------

During the drive to the lab, they had talked a bit about how they would handle things at work. Neither of them wanted to make a grand announcement. At the same time, Sara didn't want to actually _hide_ their relationship. It was eventually decided that they wouldn't say anything until they were asked about it. Sara would wear her engagement ring normally, and they would wait until someone noticed it and asked her about it. 

"Yeah," Sara snorted. "We're working with people who are _paid_ to notice things. It'll probably take what, two, three minutes, max?" she said.

As it turned out, it took closer to ten minutes. She and Grissom arrived at the lab together (and right on time), but there was no one in the parking lot to notice, so she entered by one door, and Grissom by another. They both went straight to the locker room to change, thankfully encountering no one in the process. After they had changed into their work clothes, Sara went to the break room, where her teammates were already waiting and Grissom went to his office to find out what was on the agenda for the evening.

Sara attempted to occupy herself with a forensics journal as her fellow team members grilled her about being "on-time" rather than early, for once. She forced a smile and answered that she overslept, but they weren't buying. Hiding her hands beneath the journal in her lap, she looked up and suppressed a smile as Grissom entered, assignments in hand. She breathed a sigh of relief as her friends turned their attention toward her fiancé. _'Whew,' _she thought. _'At least I made it this far without breaking down and confessing.'_

As Grissom began going over assignments, Sara's nose started to itch. She raised her eyebrows and closed her eyes as she felt the sneeze coming on. She sneezed once, twice, three times, covering her mouth with her hands. Her teammates turned toward her in amusement, ready to say, "bless you," and everything in Sara's head started happening in slow motion.

First, she saw Nick's eyebrows furrow together in confusion. Then she saw Warrick simply raise both his eyebrows in surprise. Greg's mouth fell open, and the last thing she was aware of before all hell broke loose was Catherine's gasp as she stood up, almost involuntarily.

"Sara!" Catherine said, rushing over and grabbing her hand. "What is this?" she demanded.

"Damn, girl," Warrick chimed in. "That's a rather large rock you're sporting."

Sara looked at Grissom helplessly. He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question and Sara nodded back at him, resigned.

Grissom drew in a deep breath and blew it out just as slowly. "Guys," he said, drawing their attention back to him. He stood up and walked over to the break room door, shutting it. "May I have a word with you?"

Everyone nodded silently back at him, their attention divided between Grissom and Sara. Sara tried in vain to suppress a smile.

Grissom rolled his head, loosening the tension in his neck, as he tried to figure out the proper words. "Guys…" he began. "Oh, what the hell," he rolled his eyes. "As you've no doubt gathered, Sara is engaged."

He waited for the news to sink in. Catherine was just opening her mouth when Nick beat her to the punch. "Sara!" he said, a little hurt. "I didn't even know you were seeing anyone! Who gave you that rock?"

Sara looked at her fiancé and raised a single eyebrow, daring him.

He rolled his eyes heavenward and shoved his hands in his pockets before steeling himself and saying, "I did."

For about ten seconds, the six people in the break room stood in utter and total silence.

Nick, surprisingly enough, was the first to break the silence. In a move that was totally out-of-character for him, particularly among women, he opened his eyes wide and said, "What the fuck?"

This jerked Catherine out of her reverie, and she turned to Grissom and said, "Uh, Gil?"

Warrick sat silent, taking everything in, as Greg gave a nervous chuckle and said, "Aha, good one, guys. You had me there—I really thought you were serious for a second."

Catherine swiveled toward Greg and slowly said, "Greg…I think they _are_ serious."


	11. Ice, Shattered

A/N: Mel, Mel, Mel. You rock my world.

And I actually used that testicles comment on a skeezeball who was catcalling me out a car window today.

**SHAMELESS PLUG: Go read IllictyNuttier's fanfic 'Entitled, Eluded'. Know why? Because that's me (ScullyAsTrinity) and Lauren (TriplePirouette) writing as one! Yay! Go read!**

---

Sara carefully placed her journal down on the table and licked her lips. What she had really wanted to do was jump up onto the table and scream, "I told you so!" at Grissom, but to her credit she restrained herself.

"Well," Sara began on a resigned sigh, "We haven't exactly discussed going public. As you can tell" I told you so, I told you so, I freakin' told you so you daft, daft man.

"I'd say that ring is damn public." Catherine yelled, swinging her head to emphasize her words. "I mean, look at the size of it!"

Pulling her hands into her lap, she ignored Catherine's observation completely, all the while making a large attempt not to meet Grissom's eyes. If she did, it would be all over. "Anyway, he said we'd wait until someone figured it out." She pointed he thumb in her now-fiancé's direction with emphasis. "Guess he forgot what 'sharp tacks' you all are." Sara finished, slightly sarcastically and again picked up her journal.

"For the love." Nick began, sitting forward in his seat, elbows on the table. "Of everything holy. Will someone please, please, explain to me what just happened? I'm fairly certain my head is actually spinning off into another dimension."

Warrick smacked his friend on the arm. "I believe that's what's called a mind fuck Nick." He seemed to be the only one whose jaw hadn't come unhinged with the startling news, and for some reason, Sara found comfort in that. "And for the record man, Griss finally gave into Sara's 'feminine wiles' and they're gonna get hitched. Hey wait, has this thing been all around us the whole time?" Warrick said, his posture denoting that he was suddenly irked. "Sharp tacks? Man, how the hell could we miss this?"

Grissom remained silent, satisfied with the extent to which he had gone to publicize he and Sara's relationship. So there he stood, at the head of the table, assignment sheets in hand, waiting to begin the shift. He became antsy when no one spoke for a few moments. "Hey! Guys! Assignments-"

"Gil, shut up." Catherine commanded, and he, for his part, shut up... though he wasn't sure why he had done so. "The dead can wait for like..." She shook her head rapidly. She was agitated. "Another three minutes." Spinning towards the only other female CSI, Catherine pinned her with a stare. "Really? How long has this been going on? And I can't believe you didn't tell me by the way Gil. What happened to the 'being more open' thing? Sara!"

Catherine snapped her fingers in the young woman's face. Honestly, how did she expect her to follow her line of questioning when no one was really sure who the hell she was talking to.

"How long?"

Everyone sat still, silent, waiting for her to answer. Sara, finally summoning the ability to speak began, but was quickly cut off. "Three-"

"THREE YEARS!?" Cath roared, nearly shaking the room with her voice. Warrick and Nick cringed, and her decibel level seemed to snap Greg out of his, apparent temporary paralysis. Greg's brow furrowed as he attempted to make some semblance of the chaos that had erupted around him. "You've been seeing each other for three years?" The blonde thought for a moment and then whirled to face her supervisor.

"Gilbert Grissom. You cheated on Sara-"

"What on god's green earth are you talking about?" Gil nearly screeched, sensing Sara's sudden unease.

"I though, with Hea-"

Sara cut her off before she could go any further and Gil was grateful. "It's more, short term than that. Really."

Cath smiled and turned back to Sara. "Three months? It only took you three months to get him to slip that ring on you..." Her voice died off as she watched Sara's face brace for impact?

"THREE DAYS!?" Cat and Nick shouted together and Sara winced, sunk down in her chair, just a little. Sara's fingers toyed with her ring as she peeked to Grissom for help. Grissom, as per usual, was at a loss for what to do. Yes, he had somehow assembled the right sequence of words to get Sara to marry him, but that had taken, for the most part, his entire quota of creativity. Stocks such as that needed time to rebuild, and it hadn't even been a full day since he had used it up.

"Catherine, this is neither the time, nor the place. Can we please get back to-" Grissom had sounded stern, but Catherine lashed out at him. "One more word out of you bug man and you'll have to EBay a new pair of testicles! Stop changing the subject!"

Nick and Greg, laughed. Actually laughed. Sara smiled a bit but laughed as well at Catherine's insanely amusing threat. Stifling their amused snickers, the two men looked down at their laps, ignoring their supervisor's patented 'death-glare', which, in all fairness, wasn't all that different from his every day, run-of-the-mill scowl.

Greg sat forward, toying with a stray napkin, that had been strewn on the table. "Am I supposed to be enthused?" He asked, breaking Cat's glare away from Grissom, as all eyes were then focused on him. "I mean this is my first team meeting and... should I know how to react to this?"

Sara laughed, and for the first time spoke with mirth. "Not like this happens every day Greggo." Except in my head, she wanted to say, her stomach was turning in so many different directions.

"Okay, okay." Nick splayed his hands wide in front of him, earning him the attention of everyone in the room. "You and Sara, have never dated. Never." Nick was attempting to set things in concrete. Gil was stoic, allowing Sara to field the questions. He wasn't squirming on the outside, but he damn well was on the inside. His intestines in fact were about to crawl up and strangle him... but he made no move to show it.

'Figures', Sara thought. "Figures." Sara spat at him. "I don't know how to-" She looked towards Grissom who visually began to squirm at Sara's discomfort. Her expression went from unsure, to shocked, to hurt. She withered in her seat, and it affect him instantly.

"No Nick, we haven't dated. Not plural."

"You're not dating her... you're marrying her instead." Nick's tongue tested the words on his tongue, his mind playing catch up. He couldn't, so instead, he squeaked out a question. "Why?"

Grissom thought for a moment, and looked very calm as he spoke his explanation. "Because, Nicholas," No one had called him Nicholas but his mother and it freaked him out. "Some things in life are too wonderful to pass up. Carpe diem would suffice, I suppose, if you knew what repression of feelings does to someone's heart. What passion and untold wanting can do to a person when they feel hollow; when you think you're finally dead inside. And finally, once you let it go," He glanced at Sara. "How... alive... you feel. Like you've never lived."

They all stared at him, everyone at a loss for words. Even Sara. She met his eyes, her own wide and searching, telling him silently that he didn't have to go any further, that she was sure that they'd figured it out. Grissom smiled, a real smile and set the assignment slips down on the table with care. He looked up at them all over the rim of his glasses.

"And," He heaved a sigh, finding his words incredibly difficult to speak. "If my similes, metaphors, and clichés aren't... sufficient..." Grissom bit his lip and Sara toyed with her ring some more, her palms sweating. "I love her, very much."

Words, they came out so slow, but they slid from him so fast... in his head. It took him a moment to realize that saying them aloud, and coherent was a very good thing. But for a moment, a split second of a moment, he wondered why he wasn't beating his head off of the doorframe.

Catherine's head grasped at the last shreds of sanity that she was sure were dissipating. "That's... good?" She hoped that was an adequate answer in light of the situation. Gil's brow scrunched and he wondered that himself.

Sara was making a very decent attempt at hiding the grin that was threatening to crack her face into little tiny shards of Sara-bliss. But she couldn't. And she grinned.

"Yeah, okay. My mind is definitely being fucked now, oh yeah. There it goes." Nick sputtered, the curse words coming from his mouth without thought. "Sar?"

"What Nick?"

Nick shook his head, clearing the fog from his brain. "He asked you to marry him and you said yes." Sara nodded. "You're getting married." She nodded once more. "Okay, that's kinds cool." He laughed, finally allowing the words to sink in.

"Cool? Man that's fantastic!" Warrick spouted, standing up, walking over to Gil. "And let me be the first to congratulate you." He shook Grissom's hand hard. Nick was slow to follow suit but did eventually, telling him, "Congrats boss, and don't take this the wrong way." Nick's voice dropped. "You hurt her and there's a very distinct chance I'm gonna hurt you." Then Nick smiled and backed off so that Catherine could launch herself into his arms.

Warrick walked over to Sara and scooped her out of her chair. She squeaked and scowled at him, but he held her close, enveloping her in a bear hug. "You little minx!" He swung her around a bit, much to the amusement of Nick and Greg.

The Texan soon walked over to Sara, taking her in his arms much more reverently than Warrick had. He buried her face in her hair, just as she laid his head on her shoulder. "You love him?" She 'Mmm'ed' in the affirmative. "Does he, does he know Sara... about the...?"

Pulling her face back, her face bearing a look of complete shock, she shook her head. Nick patted her hair and replaced her head on his shoulder. "Well, when you're ready... but he should know. And if you need anything..."

She smiled into his neck and sighed. "You know Nick," She said quietly. "The big brother routine is getting pretty tired."

He pulled back and grinned at her. "Hey, a big brother is supposed to be overbearing and annoying, so you'll just have to deal with that."

Catherine moved Nick aside and stood in front of Sara, a tad unsure of what to do. Standing there for a moment, she randomly enveloped the younger CSI into an awkward hug. Sara patted her on the back belatedly.

Greg, for the first time, smiled. It was a slightly confused smile, but he shrugged and offered the two his congratulations, and included a plea to be invited to the wedding.

That's when Nick really got excited. "Sara? In a dress? We get to witness Sara Sidle in a dress?" Warrick laughed heartily and directed his attention to Sara.

Everyone stared her down. Sara became agitated and looked to Gil for help. "Yeah Sara," Catherine said, a hint of teasing in her voice. "How are you planning on going about with this wedding?"

---

Yeah Holly, volley THAT back, biotch. ;-) I think we can both bet Mel's loving THAT. Hehe.


	12. Secrets

**Geek's A/N: Leslie, you BITCH! That has got to be the meanest cliffie ever, what with Nick's little comment and then Catherine's question at the end. You are so extremely hateful. But somehow, in spite of all that, I love you.**

**Mel, I REALLY hope you're enjoying the torture we're putting each other through!**

**Oh, yeah, shameless plug for Miss-Andromache's "Unrequited," which really rubs my Buddha (shameless use of CSI quote).**

Sara groaned and slapped a diamond-studded hand to her forehead. "Ugh, we haven't even discussed that, Cath." She looked up at her fiancé helplessly. "Frankly, I don't know that I have the mental fortitude OR the desire to plan a wedding. Can't we just go to City Hall?" she whined plaintively.

Nick, Warrick, and Greg immediately vetoed the idea, much to her amusement. "Wait, let me get this straight," she said. "I'm sitting here, as a woman, saying I don't want a wedding, and you three macho guys are screaming about how I have to have one?" She looked at Catherine. "You getting all this, Catherine?"

"Sara," Nick whined, "this is too good to pass up. I mean, come on, how often do I have the chance to see you in a long gown? And Griss…" He turned and held a pleading hand out to him. "I mean, who the hell ever thought they'd see the day that _this _guy got married?" he said, only half-jokingly. "This is like stop-the-presses kind of news, and now you're going to deny me all the fun of seeing it go down? I mean, I'm not saying you have to have a state-sponsored formal affair, but come on, gimme something to work with here…"

Sara's head fell into her hands in exasperation. Grissom finally recovered from his fear of the testicle-snatching Catherine enough to step up and say, "Guys, seriously, we've got to get to work, _but,_" he emphasized over his co-workers' protests, "we can continue the discussion over breakfast—and we'll even include Brass." He looked at Sara. "Ok?" She nodded.

"You buying?" Nick looked at Grissom suspiciously.

Grissom rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'll buy," he sighed, causing the three younger men to exchange high-fives and declarations of, "Hell yeah, free food!"

----------

At the end of shift, Grissom and Sara piled into his SUV to head off to their favorite diner for breakfast. Grissom rubbed his face tiredly before reaching for Sara's hand. "I'm sorry about letting you take all the grilling in the break room," he winced.

"Yeah, that pretty much sucked," she said, rolling her eyes and then softening. "But you more or less made up for it with that…uh…_amazing _declaration of love," she said, eyes wide. "What _was_ that, by the way? That is just SO not your style," she said plainly.

"And proposing to a woman after three days _is_ my style?" he shot back with a grin. She ceded his point with a tilted head and raised eyebrows, and he continued. "I already told you, Sara," he said in a low voice. "I'm tired of the old Grissom. He tried not to get hurt, but he got hurt anyway. So I figure, what the hell?"

It was then that Grissom confessed something to her that absolutely knocked her socks off. He wanted a wedding. A real, live, actual wedding. "If that's okay with you," he said shyly, afraid she would shoot him down.

Sara, for her part, was shocked beyond belief. This introverted, incredibly private, middle-aged man actually wanted to stand in front of a bunch of people and declare his undying love for her?

Reading her expression for what it was, he smiled and elaborated. "Sara…" he struggled with the right words. "I guess the only way to say this is that after waiting so many years to take a chance like this, I just have this…this desire to do it right." He shrugged helplessly, once again at a loss for words.

She was touched beyond words and shook her head in disbelief for a moment before stuttering, "Yeah…yeah, sure, Griss…if you want a wedding, we can have a wedding." She paused. "I just have absolutely zero idea how to go about planning something like that."

He looked at her lovingly. "I didn't say I wanted a huge wedding—just a wedding," he comforted. "And besides," he snorted, "I have a feeling that Catherine will be, uh, _more _than willing to take over for you."

----------

Breakfast with the gang plus Brass was a fun, chatty affair, with everyone still abuzz over the completely unexpected engagement of their boss and their resident physicist. The engagement seemed to have loosened Grissom up almost to the point of a semi-normal human being. Almost.

Catherine and the guys were particularly enthusiastic when it was revealed that Grissom and Sara had decided to have an actual wedding ("a _small _one," Sara had emphasized) instead of heading to the nearest Justice of the Peace. And true to Grissom's prediction, Catherine eagerly volunteered to involve herself in every aspect of planning. "Hell, I'll plan the thing _for_ you!" she had gushed happily.

When breakfast was finished, the seven friends began to stand, still engrossed in two or three different conversations. As Grissom spoke with Brass and Catherine, he noticed Nick and Sara stepping away from the group, engrossed in their own discussion. Nick's eyes were intense as he spoke in a low voice, seemingly oblivious to Sara's hard gaze and clenched jaw. _'What are they talking about?' _Grissom wondered to himself, eyebrows furrowing.

"Gil!" Catherine's fingers snapped in his face, jerking him from his thoughts. Tearing his eyes away from his obviously distraught fiancée, he turned his attention back to his two best friends.

----------

"Sara, come here," Nick said in a low voice as they stood up.

Sara groaned inwardly; she knew what this was about and had no desire to discuss it _again, _but Nick Stokes was nothing if not persistent. Stepping toward him, her jaw tightened unconsciously.

"Sara, listen, I don't know why, but it's weighing on me. You've got tell him," he murmured. "I just…I don't know, Grissom is so _intense, _I just feel like if you wait to tell him, he'll somehow feel betrayed." Nick clenched his teeth in frustration at his inability to form coherent thoughts. With slumping shoulders and a sigh, he said, "Look, Sar, you just need to tell him, ok? I mean, come on, he's Grissom—he's loved you forever and he's not going to care. But he needs to know."

Sara set her jaw. "Right, Nick. He needs to know. He needs to know that the woman he's marrying is damaged goods—passed from man to man, all with the help of mommy dearest" She snorted bitterly.

"Sara!" Nick hissed angrily. "I don't _ever_ want to hear you refer to yourself in that way again," he said in a low and angry growl. Sara was taken aback by his venomous reaction to her words.

"Uh…"

"I mean it, Sar," he said, a little softer. "You are too good for that. What happened wasn't your fault."

"No, but it doesn't mean that Grissom needs to know about it. He'll never look at me the same way again."

"Sara," he began, pleadingly.

"Stop it, Nicky," she said, in a determined but not unkind voice. "If I decide that it would be prudent for him to know, then I'll tell him," she said, just as she felt hands on her waist.

"Tell me what?" Grissom said from over her right shoulder.

---

::cackles wildly:: HAHAHAHA, Leslie!!!!! Take THAT!


	13. Planning and Puzzling

A/N: People, this took me forever to write... and it's quite bad, I have to say. I just... needed to get this out so that Holly can take the ball and pitch one over the plate.

Sorry for the suckiness.

---

The ride home was filled with buckets of tension. The pressure pushing at his chest, forcing his breath to come out labored. "Sara..." He began, licking his lips, wondering just how to bring up the issue. "Everyone has... dark secrets, stains on their past, you know I won't... it won't..."

Sara's eyes lifted to meet his and he was surprised to find them angry.

"No, Sara, look at me."

"Griss, you don't understand-"

"Help me understand, honey. This is something that's bothering you; we can work through it together. I promise." His hand clasped hers lightly, the light from the afternoon sun setting their skin aglow.

Sara sighed and let her head loll on the cool glass of the window. "Let's just, let's just wait until we get ho-" She paused, not wanting to take the conversation there. "Back to your place." His place was beginning to feel like her place, and therefore home. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about that and wondered why every time she thought of that notion she became giddy.

Grissom bit his lip, furrowed his brow, but made no complaint. He steered the Tahoe quickly down the back streets of Vegas, the interior of the vehicle silent, save for the quiet hum of the air conditioner. It was eating away at him, the notion that someone had hurt Sara in such a way to leave an emotional scar. He knew, from personal experience, that emotional scars were far worse than physical ones.

Record time was made getting back to his townhouse, and once inside, they sat down, side by side on his sofa. Her mouth was incredibly parched, and she longed for a glass of water. Knowing that if she got up she would most likely lose the courage to tell him, she sat, staring in front of her. "I just want to try and get this off of my chest..." Sara trailed off, not quite knowing where to begin.

Brushing the hair away from her neck, he spoke, low and soothing. "Honey, you don't have to say anything you don't want to, but... there's something wrong, and it's obviously bothering you, and I want to help."

Sara laid back on the couch and spoke low words, frightened, coming from her mouth. They flowed, over the hitches in breaths, the pauses to sob, and the whole while Grissom sat next to her hand on her knee, sliding silent comfort her way. Sara found it necessary to go into all the details, to release herself from the tension she felt. Her admission came slowly, as she paused to remember the small details, the details that mattered, that she thought mattered.

No one had ever really heard the entire story; she'd told Nick an abridged version, skipping over the more emotionally damaging aspects. He'd done just as Grissom was doing, giving her silent comfort, for which she was grateful. Afterward, he'd walked away from her, face red, anger overtaking him, and he'd told her that she didn't deserve what had happened to her, wished he could change things.

And she'd attempted to explain to him that she wasn't angry that it happened to her, didn't feel the need to seek revenge. She'd told him that it wasn't his place to be angry for her... and he understood and bought her another beer.

Drawing her account to a close, she was surprised that she hadn't broken down in the middle of it, she usually did. "What are you thinking?" She asked him, sounding incredibly chipper, which sounded incredibly forced.

Gil pulled his hand from her knee and shuffled closer to her on the couch, slowly, making sure it was okay with her. She made no move to push him away, so he settled his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. "I'm thinking... I feel... very said. And, I'm thinking... I love you very much, and nothing changes that." Smiling sadly at her. "So, you're not gonna get rid of me." He ribbed, kissing her on the forehead. "I am glad that you told me though, I feel better knowing."

Sara hadn't expected his reaction to be so subdued. For some reason, she'd pictured him getting angry, and she, in turn would be hurt that he did. It wasn't anyone's place to be angry, or sorry, for what had happened to her. It felt strangely liberating to be proved wrong in her assumption.

---

The next three days were a blur of work and strained conversations, of stolen kisses and awkward silences. Then it was time for breakfast at Catherine's, where they had agreed to meet their friends and discuss what Sara finally admitted had to be accurately called "the wedding."

Catherine handed her a sheaf of papers detailing the background of the Justice of the Peace she had hired.

"Cath, the man's name is Gerund." Sara laughed. Catherine shrugged and set about clearing the remainder of the table. "As in the grammatical phrase. That's... not right."

She laughed and placed the papers down on the table, quickly becoming fed up with the entire idea of the institution of marriage. There was far too much planning. She was always so simple, and she wished that they could just go down to City Hall and grab their papers. But, she felt the need to humor Grissom, indulging in his softer side.

She had a feeling she'd be doing that a lot.

She noticed Greg, Warrick and Nick all looking towards her conspiratorially. Out of habit, her brow shot up and she questioned them.

"What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

Nick held out a plush box for her to take. Warrick and Greg looked on in apprehension. "We uh, didn't really know what to get you-"

"I told you really... not to get me anything." Sara said angrily, and Nick winced. Greg stepped in front of him to take the heat. Everyone was making this marriage a huge debacle, and she was uncomfortable with it, especially since they were all showering her with unneeded attention.

"Yeah, we know, we just wanted to, uh... we wanted to get you something pretty you could wear..." Greg stuttered over his words, painfully.

"It's to wear with the dress. Cath said you weren't going for any jewelry... so we got you this." Warrick said, looking from the box, to Sara to Greg, who merely shrugged and stepped back, bracing himself for Sara's reaction. She glared at the three of them and reluctantly opened the box. It creaked at her, and she paused from flipping on the three men when she saw the contents of the box.

It was a small, silver necklace, with three teardrop diamonds hanging down at different lengths. Very simple, very delicate, very beautiful. "Guys, this... this..."

Greg smiled stupidly, grinning like an idiot at the way her eyes glossed over with a sheen of tears. Warrick bounced on the balls of his feet and pulled her into a quick hug. "All this hugging guys... you're throwing off my balance. There should be a quota." Sara finished sarcastically, finally being enveloped by Nick.

Grissom re-entered the room to the cacophony of emotions, and noticed the box that his fiancé was admiring. Moving closer, he slid up behind her and glimpsed at the necklace. It was gorgeous, truly, and he was sure it would look stunning on her neck but...

"Guys. That looks rather expensive." Me mentioned, glancing meaningfully over the bridge of his glasses. Nick's face fell, Greg became confused, and Warrick rolled his eyes.

"Alright man, look." He began, advancing on Grissom. "You have to stop being so... you. It's a gift. Deal with it." Warrick laughed a bit, and pushed Grissom on the shoulder. "And before you give us a speech, we got you something as well."

A lingering silence hung over the group as Sara gingerly touched the delicate silver in her hand. "It's... tasteful. What we got." Greg broke the silence and Nick shot him a glare.

"Whatever." The Texan muttered dejectedly and shoved a similar box into Grissom's hands before moving away to the kitchen to help Catherine with the dishes. Sara's face fell into Griss's shoulder and she chuckled softly. Gil patted her hair and held the box up in front of him, examining it.

"It's not a puzzle Griss, you can open it." Warrick pointed out, and Greg leaned in eagerly as Grissom pulled at the ribbon surrounding the box. Sara giddily grasped his arm and watched on as he skeptically opened the box.

Sara gasped and Grissom simply raised a brow when they saw the contents. Greg, who was eager to hear his boss's reaction, looked to Warrick in agitation.

Gil sighed and fingered the object within. "Guys... this is..."

Sara groped his arm, pulling on it. Encouraging him. "This is... more than..." Warrick shot hit boss a warning look, and Grissom smiled wearily. "Thank you." His fiancé looked up into his face and suddenly pecked his cheek. Nick took that moment to reenter the room, and the three of the men looked on in shock at the strange display of public affection.

"See!" Nick gestured to Grissom with his hand. "That's all that I was asking for."

His friends all gaped at him as he quickly corrected himself. "Not, not the kissing, the... the thank you!"

Greg looked at him skeptically.

Nick sighed and caught Greg's glance. "COME ON NOW!"


	14. A La Cat

**Thanks to: Leslie, for the best drunken voice mail ever! **

**Also, thanks to my husband for just being the funniest guy on the planet. This morning's conversation: "Next thing you know, you'll be wanting to head off to CSI-Con..." in an announcer's voice "brought to you by the makers of Phenolphthalein." Sorry, it was just really funny. He did this big announcer's voice, and he was just totally making fun of my CSI obsession, and…well, maybe it was a location thing. You just had to be there. **

**Side note: The mere _mention _of phenolphthalein makes me sick to my stomach. Organic chemistry lab, senior year of college. A relatively simple lab involving the use of phenolphthalein, as do a great many organic chem labs. Unfortunately, I made a minor miscalculation that wasn't discovered until the end of the experiment, and I had to start all over from scratch. So instead of being there for three hours, I was there for almost six. The poor lab tech and I seriously considered ordering pizza. Blecch. That was like the single worst experience of my college career.**

"Oh, just admit it, Nicky…you know you like the kissing!" Sara teased. Nick rolled his eyes and Sara turned back to her fiancé. "Put it on, Griss. Let's see how it looks on you!"

Grissom obliged, slipping the watch onto his left wrist. Examining it, he finally grinned. "Thanks, guys," he said, pulling Sara close to his side. "Wanna watch me kiss Sara some more?" he joked.

"Ugh, no way, man," Warrick muttered, averting his eyes. "That's a little too in-your-face for yours truly."

"The man can handle decomps, but freaks out at a little PDA," Sara teased.

----------

The next few weeks passed quickly enough to make Sara's head spin. True to her word, Catherine handled most of the tedious details of the wedding, but as far as Sara was concerned, the whole thing was still too much. She had chosen her wedding dress, and the guys had bought her a lovely piece of jewelry, and that was about as much as she was inclined to take care of in the planning department.

Warrick had declared that he knew an excellent jazz trumpet player who could handle any of the musical details, and Sara had just rolled her eyes and waved her hand in assent.

Then came the BIG decisions—where to have the wedding, how many people to invite, and what kind of reception to have.

"Catherine, I'm getting a migraine," Sara whined when she was forced to sit down to make decisions.

"Oh, you are not—now just shut up and think for a second. Where do you want to get married?" Catherine asked for the eighteenth time.

"City Hall," Sara snarked.

"Quit being a baby. Make a decision or I'll make it for you."

Grissom chose this exact moment to peek out from behind his newspaper. "Uh…I might know a place."

Two decidedly feminine heads swiveled to face him, shocked expressions firmly in place.

Grissom blushed. "It's just this…park that I go to sometimes…when I need to think."

Catherine raised a finely sculpted eyebrow.

Grissom continued. "It's, uh, about an hour from here. I sort of discovered it by accident a couple of years ago. It's small, with lots of trees and a large duck pond. The landscaping is quite lovely. It would be a nice spot for a wedding."

Sara and Catherine looked at each other. Sara shrugged. "Whatever—it's fine with me, if that's what he wants."

Catherine shook her head slowly, not quite comprehending the fact that the groom had just chosen the location for the wedding. Finally, she scribbled something down on her paper, and said, "Ok, wedding location selected." She wrinkled her nose at the teeth-pulling and arm-twisting she would likely have to administer to get Sara to make a decision on the next topic. She took a deep breath and plunged in. "Moving on, Sara, let's talk dresses."

To Catherine's complete and utter shock, Sara smiled shyly. "I think I know what I want," she said quietly.

A wide-eyed Gil Grissom peeped around the edge of his newspaper, clearly surprised.

"Yes?" Catherine prompted. Grissom wore an intrigued look now.

"Uh, well…" Sara stammered, unsure of herself. "I think I would like something simple and elegant. I think strapless would be nice. In a nice soft ivory color. Maybe a tiny bit of beading, but very minimal. And I would like Grissom to wear a nice suit, rather than a tux."

Catherine raised her eyebrows, clearly surprised that Sara had taken it upon herself to even _contemplate _the wedding attire. "I think that sounds lovely, Sara," she encouraged. She made a few notes, then moved on. "Are you planning on having a bridal party?"

Sara's face blanked and she looked over at Grissom. They hadn't discussed it. "Um, I don't know. What do you think, Griss?"

"I don't care."

Sara huffed out an exasperated sigh. "Come on, work with me here. You know I'm not good at this stuff."

"Honey, I really don't care."

Sara looked at Catherine helplessly. Catherine spoke. "Well, why don't you each just have an honor attendant? A maid of honor and a best man. That way, it's not some huge deal, but you'll at least have people standing with you…" She looked at Sara expectantly. Sara, in turn, looked at Grissom, who simply shrugged.

"Fine with me" he said non-committally.

Sara rolled her eyes. Looking back at Catherine, she nodded. "Okay, let's do that."

Catherine nodded. "Okay, Sara, who are you going to ask to be your maid of honor?"

Sara looked at her as if she had two heads. "Uh, _you, _Cath. Who else would I ask? Greg?" She snorted.

Catherine put down her pen, her face blank. After a moment, she gave Sara a small smile and said, "Wow. That means a lot, Sara. Thanks."

Sara rolled her eyes and shrugged playfully. "Yeah, yeah." Getting all mushy wasn't her style.

Catherine regained her composure and looked over at Grissom, who was hiding behind his newspaper again. "Gil? Your best man?"

"Jim," he responded, not bothering to move his newspaper.

Sara smiled at this. Catherine said, "Have you asked him?"

"No, Catherine, I have not. I didn't even know I was having a best man until thirty seconds ago."

"Smartass," Catherine muttered under her breath, causing Sara to giggle. "Give him a call, willya? I need to know for sure that he's doing it."

Grissom sighed, deciding that his newspaper was a lost cause. He put it to the side and pulled his phone from his belt, all the while glaring at Catherine. He speed-dialed Jim and spoke while continuing to glare at his friend. "Uh, yeah, Jim. It's me. Listen, my wedding Nazi wants me to ask you a question. She needs to know _right now_ at this very moment who I'll be having as my best man. Will you do it?" Grissom listened for a moment, then broke into a grin. "Thanks, Jim. I really appreciate it." He snapped his phone shut and looked over at Catherine. "He'll do it. Happy now?"

"Very," Catherine said.

----------

Catherine sat on the bench in the locker room, filled with dread. She was waiting for Sara to finish logging her evidence in so they could go shopping for a wedding dress. Catherine was fairly certain that this would be the most miserable day of her life. In fact, she was pretty sure that she'd rather take ten four year-olds shopping for an entire day than spend three hours shopping for bridal gowns with one thirty-three year-old Sara Sidle.

Just as Catherine was about to give up, Sara came bouncing into the locker room. "You ready?" she asked brightly.

Catherine raised her eyebrows. "What kind of happy-bug crawled up _your_ ass?"

Sara smirked at Catherine. "Hey, can't I be excited about finding my wedding dress?"

Catherine shot her a skeptical look. "You haven't been excited about anything _else _pertaining to your wedding thus far. Why start now?"

"Hey, I'm excited about getting _married,_" she returned. "I'm just not excited about all the little details. But come on, every little girl dreams about the perfect wedding dress. I guess I just decided to enjoy this part," she shrugged with a small grin.

----------

Four hours later, Catherine and Sara emerged from a small bridal boutique, plastic garment bag in hand. "I can't believe we got it offthe _rack!_" Catherine squealed in excitement.

Sara tried to look annoyed at Catherine's girlish antics but failed miserably. She gave in and grinned widely, agreeing with Catherine. "It _was _a pretty amazing buy," she admitted.

"Are you kidding me? It was phenomenal, fantastic, orgasm-inducing! Damn, I love a hot bargain," Catherine gushed. Switching subjects rapidly, she said, "Are you sure you like the dress I picked out for me?"

This time, Sara succeeded in looking annoyed. "For the last time, Catherine, I don't care what you wear. You're the one who has to live with it, and it's not like I'm going to force you to wear some hideous hot-pink number that would be a nightmare with your skin. Geez…" she finished.

Catherine laughed heartily. "Well, I think the navy blue will do nicely. I'm pretty sure everyone looks good in navy."

----------

The rest of the planning went surprisingly smoothly, as far as Catherine was concerned, until she found Sara shaking on the floor in the locker room two weeks before the wedding. "Sara!" she cried as she rushed over to where Sara was crouched by the showers. "Are you okay?"

Sara looked up at her with tears in her eyes. "Cath…" she whispered.

Catherine was panicking now. "Sara, do you need a doctor?"

Sara shook her head fiercely. "No!" she uttered. "I'm not sick."

"What is it, Honey? Talk to me. What's wrong? Did something happen between you and Gil?" _'Dear God, I don't want to have to kill him…' _

Sara shook her head again, then held up a finger while she tried to catch her breath. After a moment, she had seemingly calmed a bit. Finally, she spoke. "I just suddenly got really scared, Cath. This is all so sudden and so…out of character for him."

Catherine's eyes widened. _'Tell me I'm not going to have to kill HER…She is NOT going to break this thing off…is she?'_

Sara continued. "I love him so much," she hiccupped, "and I want to be with him so badly." Catherine's heart broke for her. "But why is he doing this? Is this some crazy mid-life crisis? It all happened so fucking fast! He is all I've ever wanted, but I'm starting to wonder what flipped the switch for him. After all those years of pushing me away, he switched gears so fast." Her voice broke pathetically. She looked up, helpless, at Catherine. "I guess I'm just second-guessing myself—and him. But Cath, I'd just die if I lost him now. I'd just die."

Catherine crouched down and gathered Sara into her arms, her maternal instincts kicking in full-force. "Shhh," she soothed, rocking Sara back and force. "Shh, it'll be okay, Sweetie. You're not going to lose him."

As she sat there rocking her friend, she wondered, '_Why is this woman so insecure?'_


	15. Undone

Leslie's A/N: Talking to Mark, Holly's drunken husband, was possibly one of the funniest moments of my weeks. Especially when I had to defend Grissom's sexuality. Snow. Is. Great. Class got cancelled today! That NEVER happens at Suffolk. I'm stoked. Yes SMK Legacy, a combination of the snow and the Pats victory has me in SUCH a fabby mood.

This was the single funniest that was said today, talking to CSINut214: No prob. Maybe they get back to the B&B and Sara realizes she's gay! That way I don't have to write a sex scene. Brilliant!

Holly's A/N: This is in response to GraveDigger Resurrection's question in her most recent review. She noticed that there might be a little...ah, dissent, between Leslie and myself on the subject of the beard, since I just had Grissom shave the damn thing off in Facades. And with that, I guess you know where I stand. I absolutely hate the thing. It makes him look incredibly old, it hides that adorable cleft in his chin, and on top of it all, well, his face is just way too handsome to be hiding behind all that nasty hair.

I will say this: Leslie loves the beard, and even my husband, who is quite probably the most macho man in the world (and therefore loathe to say anything that might be REMOTELY misconstrued as being flattering about another man) thinks that WP looks tons better with the beard than without. And apparently the vast majority of CSI fans feel that way, too. All I can say is that I hate the damn thing. And I'm not even going to get into the discussions of a, ah, sexual nature that Les and I have had about the beard. So there. I've said my piece. ::steps down off of soapbox::

---

This, children, is what we call a 'filler chapter'. Can you say it with me?

---

Sara went home alone for what would be the first time in weeks. The piqued feeling of dread had subsided, but only after Catherine had talked her off of her 'calling-it-off' ledge. Everyone got frightened, she'd said. If she hadn't been nervous about it, now that would have been worrisome.

Still, Sara couldn't help but feel thrown off kilter, the events of the past weeks flashing behind her eyelids. Surely this turn of fortune, of good nature... would have to end sometime. In a world of infinite possibilities, the good had to be counter weighted by the bad.

This, this is exactly what she didn't need happening. Not now. Gil Grissom was everything she wanted. He was, quite literally, everything she needed in a world full of other possibilities. She knew that to be an absolute fact. Before, she'd had her wants, her needs down to a precise science, the outcome of one elaborate experiment. Knew exactly where he fit and why she needed him. Now, it felt as if someone had changed a variable on her, skewed the data so the findings were off.

'Oh god,' she thought. 'Why does my circular reasoning always come back to science?' She would have laughed at herself if she didn't feel so damn lost.

But maybe that was how she was supposed to feel? Maybe...

Sara sighed in the confines of her vehicle. 'I don't even care anymore. Just... bring it on.' She thought tiredly. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, she looked up and realized that she was driving herself to Grissom's, not to her own apartment. She groaned. 'This is not good, you're too caught up in this... this...'

But she should be caught up in the situation, after all...

"You're getting married to the man!" She shouted to herself as the light turned green. Making an illegal u-turn she sped off back in the direction of her own apartment. Glancing in the rearview mirror to check for cops, she caught sight of her wedding dress, gripping onto the garment latch for dear life.

And she smiled.

"You're getting married to the man."

---

Sara practiced her juggling skills, grabbing bags out of her Denali and making her way haphazardly up her from steps to her apartment. Her wedding gown was slung over her shoulder, the safest place for it to balance. Making it to her door with minimal cursing, she shoved the key into the lock and toppled in, splaying the contents of her arms all over the sofa. Glad with her progress, she sighed and smiled... and whipped her head around when she head someone speak behind her.

"You don't even call?" Gil was seated at the breakfast bar, coat still on, crooked smile on his face. He looked adorable in the half-light and Sara felt every inkling of nerves slide from her just as quickly as it had settled within her. "I got all worried and you-"

"Shut up." She threw sarcastically over her shoulder as she moved into her bedroom to change out of her work clothes. IT was then that she remembered her purchases that lay on the couch and her fiancées newfound penchant for snooping. Rushing back to the living room just in time, she saw him standing over her things.

"Hey, hey, hey... mind your own business." She said leaping in between him and the couch, distorting his line of vision. "And that key was only for emergencies... or so you told me supervisor Grissom." She poked him in the ribs and he slithered his arms around her shoulder.

"It was, it is an emergency." Gil promised.

"Oh really?" Skeptically, she titled her head to the side, waiting to hear her excuse. "How so?"

"I... hadn't kissed you in... hours." He said, plainly enough, face blank, as if he'd just told her something as banal as her overtime ration. Truth be told, it was a big statement for him to make; for him to come all the way to her apartment and be desperate enough to use the spare key she'd given him, as was required, when she moved to Vegas.

Sara huffed out an exaggerated sigh. "Then do it!"

His lips were on hers in a matter of seconds and she was elated by the passion that he poured into it. A small 'Mmm' was her only response, followed by her tongue lovingly stroking his. That was when it all snapped into place for Sara Sidle. Sure, she was nervous, cold feet even. But kissing him made her very happy, almost as happy as loving made her. That was probably all she had to worry about then.

She'd taken a pretty big chance on him before, after all. Moving to Vegas, not knowing what was going to happen? Loving him silently for years? Oh, she was prepared to take another risk and this, in comparison to the others, looked rather like smooth sailing.

Grissom jumped in her arms when her palms slid down to grab his ass, rather firmly. If he wasn't such a "man" he would have yelped, but all he could think to do was stop kissing her. "What's gotten into you all of a sudden? A moment ago you were picking on my ability to gain access to your-"

Cutting him off with her lips, he moaned, rather happy at her turn of heart, so to speak. Hands grasping her head suddenly, he led her to the couch and then onto it, careful to avoid her purchases, yet still, she felt the need to yelp and disengage. "Watch the dress!" Sara grabbed the bag and held it to her, finding it quite odd, her reaction.

"That's the dress?" He pondered, pulling on the plastic of the garment bag in interest. "Reallllly..." He drew out, wondering just how to gain access to the bag without incurring maximum wrath. Sara got on and hugged the bag tighter to herself.

"No way! This is the one thing I want to do right. No seeing the dress." Sara said adamantly and shoved him off of her, retreating once more to her bedroom, to hide the gown. Spinning to leave her room, she was blocked by Grissom's frame, hanging languidly in the doorway.

"I bet you look gorgeous in it." He whispered to her, his own cheeks flushing more than hers did. Head bowed, she moved forward and he enveloped her in his arms. She did think she looked rather striking, but far be it for her to actually admit that.

"S'okay." She whispered into his chest, reveling in his scent, knowing that soon, she'd be waking up next to it... every day for the rest of her life. As the notion settled into her skull, Sara realized that the marriage might be hasty... it was completely random enough to be, well, right.

Gil smiled and dropped a kiss into her hair. She'd looked stunning and she knew it, and now he knew it. Nearly salivating at the thought of seeing Sara in a wedding gown, he pulled away and looked into her eyes. "Three weeks. I can't wait." He admitted and her heart began a marathon beat in her chest.

"Show me." Came her harsh whisper as she dropped a sweet, open-mouthed kiss onto his neck. "I wanna feel you Gil." Tugging on his lapels, they both waddled into the room. She bounced herself down on the bed and he made quick work of divesting her of her shirt.

The smooth skin of her collarbone never failed to incite him and he fell to his knees, as if at worship, just to kiss her there. It was impossible for her to hold back, and her hands landed on his shoulders, kneading the muscles there.

And then she remembered. He'd just pulled a double, and had gone nearly two days without sleep. As much fun as they were about to have, he needed his rest. So, reluctantly, she let go of his shoulders and nudged his side with her knee.

"Hey, you." She whispered, touching the side of his face for effect. He started at her touch and brought heavy lidded blue eyes up to meet hers. For a moment, Sara was struck with how reverent he looked on his knees. "Maybe you should get some sleep." She continued, her thumbs stroking over the lines of his cheekbone.

Gil sat back and looked at her, confused. "You've been up for awhile, don't want your sleeping schedule to be off." Biting her lip, Sara watched on as he smiled almost thankfully as he got up and straightened his clothes. Gil walked over to her and kissed the top of her head before turned towards the door. "Wh-where are you going?" She asked, startled by his near-exit.

"Home... to sleep..." He drew out, treading lightly, though to him it was the only acceptable answer.

Sara frowned and settled back on her hands on the bed. "Oh, I just thought..."

It dawned on him suddenly what she wanted him to do and he felt like a complete and utter moron. "Oh! Oh, stay here. Yeah, I mean, yes. I can do that. If you want me to... do... that." Again, he treaded lightly not quite sure she wouldn't snap out of whatever spell she was under.

Sara's face broke out into an atomic grin, and he shifted from foot to foot. "Of course I do. We, you know, uh maybe in the morning we can discuss some things... thoroughly. Like the fact that yeah we're getting married but... we have yet to even discuss living situations."

Awfully sharp, that Sara Sidle. It was true, the two of them needed to discuss inevitable topics before it became so colloquial and they were married but each clinging to their old abodes. That would make no sense, to either of them. "We should, and we will. Tomorrow." He added adamantly before moving to take off his windbreaker. Sara's grin subsided into a soft smile.

They both undressed and laid in the bed, his hand on her hips, her head somewhere up in the clouds. "Griss, I uh, are you nervous I mean..."

"Of course I am." He answered immediately, stroking her warm skin with his thumb.

Sara leaned back into his warmth and relished the feeling of the man enveloping her. "Good, me too."

They drifted to sleep, nerves set to bed for the evening.

---

Sara found it increasingly difficult to wake up in the morning if she was solitary, but only if she'd gone to bed with someone the night before. She felt devoid of warmth, and the relaxation in her bones wasn't something that she wanted to revel in. In fact, she set about vaulting herself from the bed, off to investigate as to her bedfellow's whereabouts.

Thankfully, she found him in her kitchen, sipping coffee and thumbing through an old forensic journal. She knew the issue well, so well, that it was dog-eared. But he, he appeared to be invested in the article he was reading, his face a mask of concentration. Sara held back and watched him for a moment, soaked up the comfortable silence, the warmth he exuded.

She found it odd that such an outwardly awkward and belligerent man could inspire her to think such things, and she smiled at the random wonderment of it all. Walking forward slowly, quietly, she touched his arm, startling him into a laugh.

"Didn't see you there." He replied, pushing out a stool for her, standing to retrieve a mug of coffee.

"That was the point." Sara replied, rolling the sleep from her tongue with a yawn. Grissom smiled at the innocence that remained glued to her form, sleep did that to some people. In fact, it made her look angelic, as if he should live in fear to touch her, for he might mar her skin. But he was waxing far too poetic to handle at such an early hour. Coffee poured, he set it down in front of her with a flourish and sat back down.

It was comfortable, the two of them being domestic. That helped to abate the last vestiges of nervousness from her body and she visibly relaxed. "You know," She began, voice bordering on teasing, "You got a full eight hours of sleep. Feeling re-reenergized." She hid her grin behind her coffee mug and watched as he slowly brought his head out of the article.

"Tell me that was rhetorical." he mumbled before tossing the journal aside, standing, and kissing her neck.

Sara groaned happily, the endorphins rushing directly to her head. "'S whatever you want it to be, keep with the kissy." It was said on a mumble and Grissom willed himself not to laugh. 'The kissy?' But he did, lips on her skin, until she pleaded with him for more, just a little bit.

They somehow tumbled to the bedroom, to forget the insanity that they were abreast of.


	16. Finally as One

**A/N: So we are covered in a quarter-inch of ice. Nice. It's not the fourteen feet of snow that Leslie's buried under, but hey, it's nice to get a little winter weather every now and then. But why, oh, why couldn't it have happened on a weekday?**

Sara woke up in her own bed, in her own apartment, alone for the first time in weeks.

And she smiled.

Her wedding day had finally arrived, and she was surprised to find that she had no butterflies, no qualms, no last-minute sweats. She was excited.

----------

Across town, Grissom awoke to the blaring of a classic rock station. Slapping the alarm clock, he reached for Sara, only to remember that she had stayed at her apartment last night. He smiled as his thoughts cleared and he remembered that it was his wedding day.

He was just rolling out of bed when his cell phone rang. He grinned and rolled his eyes as he looked at the caller ID. Flipping the phone open, he drawled into it, "Yes, Catherine?"

"Good morning, handsome!" she squeaked cheerfully. "Are you ready for the biggest day of your life?"

"Yes, Catherine," he grinned in spite of himself. "I'm very ready. I can't wait to see this amazing bargain of a dress that you two have talked so much about."

"It's pretty sad if you're only interested in the dress, Gil," she needled.

"Ok, ok, I admit it. I can't wait to see one Sara Sidle wearing said dress."

"Good boy. By the way, your wedding gift to Sara was exquisite. I'll see you in three hours at the park."

----------

Sara stood in the pavilion, looking at herself in the full-length mirror Catherine had so thoughtfully supplied. She was grinning like the Cheshire cat, suddenly thrilled beyond words that the guys (and Grissom) had talked her into having an actual wedding. She felt, for lack of better words, like a princess.

Her gown was simple—an ivory color, just as she had wanted, and strapless. There was a single line of tiny beading at the top, and the gown fell loosely to the ground at her feet, hugging the curves of her waist and hips before flowing freely to the ground. She had no train, and no veil or headpiece. Catherine had pulled her dark hair into a low, tight knot at the nape of her neck.

She was wearing Grissom's wedding gift—a delicate sterling silver chain with a single diamond pendant, and matching diamond earrings.

Sara smiled as she remembered her reaction the night before, when he had handed her the gift-wrapped box. "Your wedding gift," he said.

She brushed her fingers across his face in a loving gesture before she took the box from him. She sat down on his couch as she eagerly tore the paper off, revealing a square box of black velvet—about the size of a small book. She looked up at him in surprise. "Open it," he encouraged.

She complied, gently lifting the lid with trembling fingers. A small gasp escaped her lips when she saw the objects inside. She looked up at him, with tears in her eyes. "You didn't have to do this," she said, shakily.

"I wanted to," he replied solemnly. "You deserve it."

"Sara!" Catherine's voice cut through her reverie.

"Hmm?" she said dreamily.

"I asked if you were ready! It's almost time."

Sara graced her with a wide smile. "I'm excited. By the way, you look really beautiful, Cath."

Catherine shook her head. "Not nearly as much as you do. Poor Greg's eyes are going to pop out of his head. Not to mention Grissom's," she smirked.

----------

Warrick's buddy pulled his trumpet to his lips and began to play a slow tune as Grissom and Jim stepped to the edge of the small lake, beneath the arching trellis that had been set up for the occasion. The justice of the peace, whom Sara had simply taken to calling "Gerund-dude," took his place in the center of the arch, just to Grissom's right.

The thirty or so guests turned their heads as Catherine strolled down the aisle, her small bouquet of wildflowers firmly in hand. Warrick looked particularly appreciative of the slim-fitting navy blue dress she wore, but was doing his best to be subtle about his admiration.

The trumpeter wrapped his song up, took a couple of deep breaths, and placed his horn against his lips once more. As he began playing a lively bridal march, Sara emerged from a grove of trees, absolutely radiant. Brass suppressed a smile as he heard Grissom's quick intake of breath; he had to give his friend that—he was marrying a stunning woman.

Sara's eyes locked with Grissom's as she walked slowly toward him, her own wildflowers clutched closely to her. She grinned happily and stared him down, as if having some secret conversation that only she and he could decipher.

She reached the archway and took her place to Catherine's left. Her eyes remained locked on Grissom's, even as Gerund-dude began to speak.

He gave the introduction, then Grissom and Sara moved fluidly through their vows, seemingly never taking their eyes off of one another. When it came time for the ring ceremony, Sara reluctantly tore her eyes away from his in order to turn around and trade Catherine her bouquet for Grissom's wedding band. She turned back toward him and repeated the proper words. The moment that she slipped the wedding band on his finger seemed surreal, ethereal, dream-like. It couldn't possibly be true—could it? Was it possible that she, Sara Sidle, was placing a wedding band on the finger of one Gil Grissom? Surely not.

But alas, she did not awaken. She looked into his face as he spoke the same words to her and slipped a matching band upon her finger. She looked down in disbelief, as if staring at the simple ring for long enough would convince her of its existence.

And then she heard the words that finally persuaded her that the entire thing was not just one terribly cruel dream. "By the authority given to me by the state of Nevada, I decree that you are now husband and wife. Gil, you may kiss your bride."

A dazed grin slipped across her lips as he smiled brightly and leaned toward her. He took her face gently in his hands and pressed his lips to hers, wiping the grin off her face. The kiss was passionate, full of life and promise. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sara was vaguely surprised that he would kiss her like that in public, but she quickly silenced it with a 'shut-the-hell-up-I'm-kissing-my-husband-here,' and she leaned into him and enjoyed all the feelings that his kiss invoked in her.

As they finally broke their kiss, she realized that their small audience was clapping enthusiastically, thrilled at their union. She and Grissom turned toward the crowd, Sara twisted around and received her bouquet from Catherine, and they walked back down the aisle together, laughing and reveling in the feeling of finally being one.

**A/N: Ok, Leslie, I tried to find a level of fluff that would be acceptable to you! ;) Now go write me a smutty wedding night!**


	17. Tripping Through Sated

"I have never begged for my job back, I personally make it a rule in this beautiful world to only beg two people: my lover and my dog" - Jorja Fox

To Radish, for begging for this really.

-

Sara began to think the idea of getting a private room at the restaurant had been a good idea. After the tiny, perfect ceremony (perfect by her standards), the guests had moved to their cars and headed to the makeshift reception; a large room in a tastefully upscale restaurant.

The reason that the now-wife Sara was thankful for the privacy was because of the open bar she and Gil had been so thoughtful to supply. It seemed that everyone was taking full advantage of it; some, too much.

Case and point, Jim Brass and Greg Sanders both sat at a table, three empty glasses in front of each. Glasses that had contained scotch and screwdrivers... respectively. At the moment, the two men were in a verbal dispute over the best quarter back in the league, and it was getting loud.

Warrick and Catherine were both sipping glasses of wine, seated at a table with Nick and Lindsey, the latter on the former's lap, though she was quite old enough to be on her own. Truth be told, the younger Willow's had a large crush on a certain Texan and was more than happy to be seated in his lap, laughing along with the adults.

Sara and Grissom were relaxed in form, both slung over chairs, speaking with Doc Robbins, his wife and the young David, who's bride-to-be had been introduced to the group an hour earlier.

Other people, Archie, Hodges, Ronnie and Bobby included were milling about, nursing drinks, talking sporadically, everyone enjoying themselves at the low key affair.

When dinner arrived, people settled down at the tables, no formal place settings arranged, and dug into the meal carefully chosen by the bride. It had been a task, the menu, as Catherine had mentioned that the selection usually included a choice of beef or chicken, but that was something that Sara didn't know. The last real wedding she had been to was when she was fifteen, and she'd spent most of the affair in the bathroom, wishing for the night to end.

So, it had come down to the integral choice; chicken and beef, or chicken and fish. Finally, Grissom had talked her into chicken and fish, telling her that it was her day and she'd have fish if she wanted it. And she did... want the fish, that is.

Luckily, a sufficient number of people had actually chosen the fish over the chicken, so Sara didn't feel quite so alone.

Red snapper filets, seasoned with dalamation sage and wrapped around a sprig of fresh rosemary, coated with chopped pecan crust. The chicken, a smoked breast, glazed with a reduction of limejuice and ancho chilies, dressed with crumbles of Gorgonzola and slivers of bartlet pear

Grissom reached over and stole a stalk of asparagus off of her plate, lewdly sneaking a peek at her cleavage, allowing her to catch him. Though she had changed out of her gown, the new dress also afforded a rather liberal view of the enticing skin below her neck. Her dress was light and airy, a soft peach color that made her skin look all the more pink.

It made her seem as if she was glowing, and she felt like she was. And she was glowing when the two of them got up shyly to cut the exquisite dessert.

The cake, a base of butter-batter fine white cake drizzled with cappuccino and iced with a cream cheese frosting, the bitterness of the cappuccino offset by sugar-dusted edible rose petals worked into the border design. A delight to look at, a culinary pleasure to indulge in. And the groom's cake, off to the side, a simple New York cream cheesecake with a warm sauce of fresh blackberry compote, on the side.

They'd cut the cake in the traditional manner and Grissom had insisted that they shock their guests by feeing each other a forkful of the sugary concoction. She'd been laughing so hard that she nearly spit it out, but doubled over in his arms as he began to laugh too. That had spurred the entire room into laughter. Then, the rest of the plates had been handed out, and Catherine was caught feeding Warrick a piece and Lindsey had shrieked with laughter, drawing the entire room's attention to them.

Nick had clamped his hand over the girl's mouth and that sent her into another fit of hysterical giggles, having her crush's hand on her mouth, she couldn't wait to tell her friends.

There was dancing, and more eating, and of course more drinking and when the party began to wind down, their guests began pouring themselves out the door, all careful to find a designated drive designated enough to get them all home safely.

Gil and Sara were the last to leave, hand on the small of her back as they walked from the establishment.

They didn't go to a hotel, or take off on a honeymoon, they simply headed back to his townhouse, both of them quite full and happy, lethargy setting into their bones. Sara was all smiles in the passenger seat, her window open, the light spring air floating her hair about around her face. From time to time, Gil's hand would steal over to stroke her bare thigh, wanting nothing more than to fall between the pillowy skin there.

Her lips formed the slowest of smiles as she realized that tonight, when they made love, it would be in an entirely different capacity, and for some reason, she was nervous... in such a good way.

He'd been humming to himself as they pulled into the reserved space of his townhouse and she'd leaned over to steal the melody from him. He smiled softly when she hopped from the SUV, humming her own little tune of mirth. He'd caught up with her halfway up the steps and easily pulled her into his arms, heaved her up.

She squeaked out a surprised noise as she smacked him on the arm. "I thought we weren't going to do this part conventionally." She sighed and nuzzled her face into the warmth of his thick neck. Gracefully, he dropped a kiss onto her hair and maneuvered the key into the lock, forcing the door open with her feet. "This is ridiculous, you can put me down, I've mastered the whole walking thing Griss." Sara protested, as they stood in front of the gaping door.

Grissom was silent as he stared into the vast expanse of his living room. "You ready to do this" He whispered to her, fully intending the implication that if he carried her into his apartment, there was no turning back, for either of them.

"Kiss me." She urged, and made him step over the invisible boundary, lips to lips.

It had been that kiss, that meeting of lips that had broken her. That one step into his townhouse had her, in his arms, in tears. Gil flushed, and kissed her neck, chuckling again the obscenely warm skin there.

She was, by law in fact, his now, and he was hers. And he'd never been so thrilled to be tethered by such a bond before. The ring on his finger a foreign, frightening and wholly welcome weight.

Her feet touched the floor, a fresh wave of happy tears tickling her lower lids. "We just got married." She whispered, eyes widening. "Holy shit, you just married me"

Grissom enveloped her in his arms. "No honey, we just married each other."

"You're insane." She admonished.

"If I'm insane, then you, my dear, when round the bend years ago." She snuggled down into this comforting warmth as a response to his words.

"Touché." Was mumbled against his suit jacket and he chuckled once more, releasing her back into the chill of the room. Frowning, she smoothed down the planes of her dress, wishing he would just take the initiative and divest her of it.

He looked to her with unbearably soft eyes. "Why don't you get ready for bed." He suggested, as if they had been following this routine for years. She nodded, turning, meandering to the bathroom. He watched her go, she unconsciously taking a rather large portion of his heart with her.

Sara took her time in the bathroom, foregoing a shower in favor of simply removing her makeup at the sink. Washcloth on her neck, she stared at her reflection, wondering if she somehow looked different to others. Her eyes darted to the band on her finger and then back up at herself. It was thoroughly impossibly for her to tether the smile that spread across her lips.

Sara slid on her cotton pants and tank top set and padded her way tiredly to the bedroom. He was already in bed, head on the pillow, blue eyes catching the light filtered from the window, watching her as she walked to him. As soon as she'd climbed in, his arms were around her and his lips were on hers and they yearned. Together, a yearning greater than they'd experienced before.

When she pulled back, she was unsure of herself. "Should I feel different now? I don't." He grabbed her palm and kissed the center of it.

"I don't feel any different myself." He told her and pulled her solidly to him, exploring her mouth deeply with his own. Hands explored briefly before he was sure he could stand it no longer and easily plucked the thin cotton from her body, baring her in the dull blue light of the room.

He set about feasting upon her throat, one of the favorite spanses on her body. Not only cold he illicit moans from her while there, he could feel them against his lips. He could feel her moan, he could hear her, and if he took the short journey up to her lips, he could taste her moan as well.

He slid sweetly into her, a single thrust before their bodies met and he gazed into her eyes, willing himself to slow down. Mark the occasion... anything. Sara's eyes held his as she brought her hand up to sweep across his forehead. Placing a kiss in the center of his forehead, she whispered. "I love you."

A warmth spread throughout him and he moved into her once more, his growl accompanied by her moan. They sounded so wonderful together, so right.

A symphony that had been hanging in the wings for so long, waiting to be played to its full crescendo.

And she smiled when he bit her ear and ducked to hide his face in her neck. And she sighed when he came into her, feeling entirely too sated.

And as he feel asleep beside her, lips in her hair, she felt as if...

As if she'd peek under a hidden corner of her life and found the last remaining piece of a puzzle she'd been trying to finish for years.


	18. Three Sixty

Geek's A/N: Well. Here it is. The end. I have to say, this has been an incredibly fun ride-from collaborating over the story, to seeing what Leslie was going to come up with next, to bitching each other out over our little cliffies! I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed being a part of it!

Scully's A/N: Yeah, what she said. Really though, thank you all.

For Las Vegas, it was frigid.

Water resists temperature change. In humid climates, the moisture in the air absorbs the sun's heat during the day and releases it again at night, keeping the temperature fairly steady—usually no more than a 20-degree fluctuation during any given 24-hour period.

But desert air…Desert air is a different story. With little to no airborne moisture, there is nothing to act an insulator. And so fluctuations of up to 90 degrees between day and night are not uncommon.

Like tonight.

Sara Sidle was shivering in her tiny, thin t-shirt and windbreaker, cursing herself for not thinking ahead. The dusk hours had been deceptive, however, and she had deluded herself into thinking that her heavy overcoat would not be needed this evening. How wrong she was.

The temperature had slid from a balmy 70 degrees at 9 pm down to a hypothermia-inducing 36 degrees three hours later.

The shivering she thought she could handle; it was her hands that were killing her. The fine, detail-oriented process of collecting forensic evidence was not conducive to wearing thick gloves, so her long, slender fingers were moving slowly, impeded by the cold. Her flesh had already constricted to the point that her wedding and engagement rings were sliding up and down her left ring finger, inducing her to worry incessantly about whether or not she would lose them. Finally, she had had enough. "Nick!" she barked.

His head snapped up, alarmed. "What is it?"

Sara's face softened. "Uh, sorry. Can you toss me a bindle, please? I think I'm out."

Nick tossed her the requested item and watched in keen amusement as she pulled off her wedding jewelry and placed it in the bindle, neatly sealing and labeling it before sticking it into her pocket. "I'm so damn cold my rings are about to fall off, and it's distracting me," she said by way of explanation. Standing up, she looked around. "Ok," she said, looking up at the sky. "We just need to make our way around the perimeter again and I think we'll be good to go. Let's just hope that rain holds off."

It didn't. Twenty minutes later found a now cold and wet Sara Sidle shivering at the back of the Tahoe as she and Nick loaded evidence inside. She was daydreaming about how wonderful the truck's warm heat would feel when suddenly a gut-clenching thought occurred to her. Closing her eyes slowly against the answer she feared, she turned to Nick and asked, "Nick? Which Tahoe is this?" 'Please don't say it's Catherine's, please don't say it's Catherine's.'

"Uh…" he thought. "I think it's the one Catherine usually drives. The one with the—" his eyes widened.

"Busted heater," they finished together.

Nick hung his head for a moment before slamming his hand flat against the back window of the Tahoe. "Shit!" He cursed. After a moment, he shrugged. "At least we'll be out of the wind and rain," he reasoned.

The ride home was miserable for both driver and passenger. Sara sat huddled in the passenger seat, knees pulled up to her chest, shivering as if the thin windbreaker didn't even exist. Nick was cold, as well, but was at least slightly distracted by wiping the fog off of the windshield every minute or so—the lack of heat had created more than just a comfort problem.

The rain had stopped by the time they arrived back at the lab, but the moods of both CSIs were definitely worse for the wear. Sara grabbed the evidence that needed to go to Trace, Nick grabbed the paperwork, and the two went their separate ways.

Which is how Grissom found Sara, striding down the hallway, bag in hand, sour look upon her face. Her hair hung in wet ringlets around her face, which he thought was adorable, but he exercised excellent judgment when he refrained from commenting upon that fact. The bigger story was that she was freezing. Obviously freezing. Her posture, the way she clenched her hands, her pale lips—it all pointed to the obvious—Sara Sidle was freezing cold. He spied Greg coming down the hall to his left and called out to him. "Greg! Come here."

His spunky lab-tech-turned-CSI did just that, trotting amiably over to where his boss was corralling Sara. "Everything filled out and in order?" he was asking her. She gave him a quick nod. He took the bag from her and handed it to Greg. "Take this to Hodges; tell him it's Sara's case, so he won't push it to the back of the line," he added, rolling his eyes. When Greg walked off with the bag, Grissom gently pushed Sara into his office. "Come on, let's get you out of that sopping windbreaker." She obediently held her arms over her head as he tugged the windbreaker over her head…and promptly began to gawk.

"Whoa," he said in a low voice.

Sara growled at him, and shot him a glare. Sure, her shirt was nearly see through and the chill had caused... distractions... but there was a more pressing matter at hand. "Oh, stop being such a guy and ggget me a sweater or something."

Her lips had gone nearly completely numb. A violent shiver ran through her, snapping Grissom from his reverie and he brought her over to his couch and sat her down, unfolding the tattered afghan that lay on the back of it. Sara took it with appreciation and brought it tightly around her body.

Gil moved to his desk, reaching into a low drawn to retrieve a sweatshirt. And he looked at her, seated there. Her cheeks were pink from the wind; her hair was shiny with crystal drops of precipitation dripping off the end. Rivulets sluiced down over her cheeks in slow rivers. Entirely cold, looking increasingly helpless, his heart clenched. It clenched even more so when he realized that she was toying with her wedding band absently.

"How long were you out there for honey?" Gil asked, striding over to her, placing the worn cotton in her shivering hands. Quickly, he sat and took her hands between his. Sara smiled childishly and sat back.

"In the rain? A few minutes, Nick's a tad worse off than I am though, he had to drive back; his legs just kept cramping up. You know, Cath requisitioned to have that fixed forever ago." She shot him her best glare. "You really should get on that."

"Done," he replied firmly. "I'll have it taken care of first thing tomorrow."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, as Sara slowly regained some warmth in her body. Then out of nowhere, she emitted a small chuckle.

"What?" Grissom asked, curious.

A slow smile was winding its way across her lips. She shrugged shyly, saying, "Nothing. Just...remember the last time we did this?"

Grissom wrinkled his eyebrows. "Did what?"

"Grissom!" she said, exasperated. "This is where it all started. Last time I got stuck in the frigid desert with inadequate clothing, I came back to the lab, still freezing, and you gave me a UNLV sweatshirt and an afghan, and we ended up in a screaming match because you said you wanted what you couldn't have. Hello?" she asked, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

Grissom's eyes lit up, and he sat back on the couch with a self-satisfied look on his face. "Ahh," he said. "The wheel is come full circle."

"Your good friend Willie Shakespeare, I assume?" Sara asked, smiling.

"None other than King Lear, as a matter of fact."

Sara leaned forward, letting the afghan fall away slightly. Grissom stared at her, enamored with her wide brown eyes, her still-wet hair, and the lips that were full and red from exposure to the cold. She held his gaze for a minute before asking in a low, throaty voice, "Do you still know what you want?"

Grissom tore his eyes away from his wife's face and lowered them to her left hand. He reached out and fingered the rings that encircled the third finger, then grasped her hand and pulled it to his chest. As he placed her hand directly over his heart, he locked his eyes on hers and murmured through constricted vocal chords, "What I want is so deeply imbedded right here that nothing will ever be able to remove it."

Sara laughed at him, long and low and throaty. Beautiful. "That... is probably the cheesiest thing you've ever said."

Grissom grinned, leaned forward and kissed her gently. "Hey, can't blame a guy for trying."

Her arms wound around his neck then, and she brought his forehead to hers. "No, no you can't."

End 


End file.
